


REM Cycle

by hexagonalslugs



Series: Circadian Rhythm [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Amnesia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mild Gore, Polygamy, Wings, dub-con, wing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 90,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexagonalslugs/pseuds/hexagonalslugs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avians had appeared in the fossil record suddenly and with little warning. It was like at some point in human evolution there weren’t avians, and then all at once; there they were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surgery

Desmond dreaded the day he was supposed to begin changing, especially since it was something that had been hung over his head for years. Ever since he was little, he was told over and over, it seemed. Back then, it sounded like a blessing, something amazing, like some great gift, to grow these wings.

And looking at the other avians, Desmond would often feel awe and a strange pride. He'd have wings like that someday, or so he was told. But as he got older, the tests and training, building endurance, he felt like he was being pushed so much harder than everyone else. Having that idea of wings in the future began to take on the appearance of a chore.

Slowly, he grew to resent the treatment, especially since it meant he wasn't allowed to leave the Farm. Not even once. He didn't think he looked _that_ different from the more human of the Order. So his eyes were gold sometimes, and he had a nictitating membrane. So what?

Alright. It definitely wasn't supposed to hurt this much. Desmond scooted off of the bed he'd slept on for practically two decades, maneuvering his way on his stomach. He crept through the halls barefoot, hoping not to get caught as he took the long trek toward the avian wing, where he knew he could find Altair. Hell, he'd even risk waking the Syrian as long as it meant he could nab some painkillers without being carted off to med bay for the abscesses over his shoulder blades.

There wasn't a noise that happened within five feet of his door that Altair didn't hear or was aware of. He slept light, had for a long time. You didn't get to be his age without learning how to sleep with one eye open. He slept with the sun, waking and sleeping when it did and did so on his stomach. Most avians did, their wings too big and clumsy to sleep on their sides or back without getting in the way or aching when they woke up. The tips of Altair's primaries nearly touched the ground when he slept that was how far they hung off the bed, even slightly folded as they were.

He woke when someone came near his room. For a second jerking into half wakefulness of just knowing someone was there but not knowing if he needed to wake fully or not. His eyelids fought against gravity as he stared at the door and waited to see if they'd walk past or not.

Desmond stood at the door for a long time, bracing himself against the sturdy frame while he tried to ignore the tight pain in his back. He hadn't realized he'd begun to sweat, teeth nearly grinding with how tightly his jaw was clenched.

He let himself in after steeling himself. The only thing that got him moving was telling himself that he was a grown man, dammit, and it didn't hurt as bad as that time he broke his ribs.

That was a fucking lie, it hurt like hell, and he was probably just making it worse by refusing to admit he should have submitted himself to medical for the surgery to release the wings. Honestly, most of the things he did were while he was nearly delirious with pain, so nothing Desmond really did made any logical sense.

"... Altair...? Are you-" He tried not to swear too loudly, even though it felt like the heated throb of pain was beginning to subside for the time being. "Are you awake?" Desmond finished kind of dumbly, pushing the door half open.

Altair's eye opened fully, just the one. What the hell was Desmond doing here? He didn't even sleep in this part of the compound. With a grunt he pushed himself up a bit, his long, sandy wings folding up a bit so they didn't bump into anything. "Des?" he asked, blinking, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I didn't wanna go to med," he blurted, immediately hating himself for being forthcoming. "I just want to be able to sleep." For Desmond, Altair had a slight, warm glow, but that was the extent of what he could see in the dark.

Since his talent with Eagle Vision made itself apparent, he found himself in an almost perpetual state of it at night. Desmond's avian instincts drove him to be wary in the dark.

"Med?" Altair was momentarily confused, his brain needed a few seconds to catch up. Then he was dragging himself out of bed. His wings sagged and his primaries dragged along the floor, he wasn't awake enough to hold them up properly, they were so damn long. Like most avians Altair lived shirtless since it was annoying to get clothes that would fit and conform over your wings. He walked over to Desmond who had sweated through the thin shirt he was wearing. Altar cocked his head at Desmond in a bird-like manner, Desmond's eyes were sort of halfway into Eagle Vision, like a flickering lamp. "What do you want?" he asked again.

Desmond was quiet for a minute, catching the last of his breath. "Vi...codin?" Altair had given it to him once - and he'd pilfered plenty. "It- they really hurt."

He didn't want them to be ready, he didn't want to be ready. Each time he told himself that, though, a part of himself wanted so badly to have a pair like Altair's. Or even Connor's, strong, banded and dark.

It was a struggle for Desmond to bite back a pained whimper. "I don't wanna be awake when they take them out," he finished, feeling uselessly lame.

Altair was more awake now, more alert. "What?" but it was rhetorical, he wasn't expecting an answer. He grabbed Desmond by the shoulder and turned him around, so his back was to Altair and he yanked up the back of Desmond's shirt. His back was malformed from the large abscesses that took up most of the space on either side of his spine. Altair could see the pointed joint of the wing press against the skin like an infant in the womb before it vanished again.

He laid his hand very gently on Desmond's skin, barely touching. Well they looked ready. The skin usually grew thin, nearly to the point of being translucent, when the wings needed to be released. It'd do no good to send him to the medical area, they wouldn't cut them out anyway even though he could see a bit. Bill was controlling when exactly Desmond had his wings out. No one liked it.

He turned Desmond back around and frowned, "C'mon, I'll get some," he pulled Desmond into his room and closed the door. It was much cooler in his room than the hallway, Altair liked it that way since avians burned warmer than normal people, had a higher metabolism. What was cold for humans was acceptable for avians. Desmond though felt warm where Altair touched him. "And some cold water," he said and made Desmond sit on his bed before going into the bathroom he shared with the room next to his with Ezio. He opened the drug cabinet and pulled out the pain killers and filled a cup, that they usually used to rinse out their mouths, with cold tap water. "Here," he handed Desmond two of the capsules, and the water.

He had to literally bite his tongue when Altair checked the lumps, even with how light his touch was. Desmond had gotten used to feeling them move under his skin, but he really tried not to move them of his own volition.

Pushed to sit, he sat without question, watching Altair leave. He wriggled out of his shirt, nearly moaning at the relief simply removing the garment provided. He had no idea that the slight pressure of even the damn shirt caused pain.

Desmond looked up when he heard the door again. He almost drank the water without taking the pills. And the water was absolutely amazing. He thanked whatever fickle, lucky star he had for his metabolism, knowing he would soon feel the pain killers.

Altair put his hands on Desmond's head, making him look up at Altair, who frowned. Desmond was nearly completely delirious with pain. "Why didn't you go to med before you went to sleep for pain killers?" he asked Desmond seriously. He could remember what it was like the few days before his wings had been let out. It had been agony. But he hadn't been an idiot about it and had taken vicodin like clockwork to keep the pain at pay.

He turned his head into one of Altair's hands, feeling the stub of his missing finger and finding it oddly comforting. Desmond opened his mouth to answer before he really had thought the words over as he often did. "They would've done a buncha tests... I'm tired of needles and beeping monitors and stethoscopes - they're freezing cold."

And being told to breathe deep, no, deeper, from the diaphragm boy, not the chest. He had just wanted to sleep, and not deal with the latex gloves that made him sneeze.

Desmond yawned, more resting his head in Altair's hands now.

"Not this close to them coming out they wouldn't have," cause you messed up this close to them needing to be removed and you could fuck the entire thing up. They didn't tell you that till after the surgery though. "Feeling better now?" Altair asked him as Desmond sagged in his hands, he knew the area where Desmond slept was kept at a temperature more suitable for humans. In their rooms, Altair and the other fully grown avians that is, they insisted on a lower temperature so they didn't sweat themselves to death. Being in here probably felt like a breath of fresh air.

He asked if he could sleep there - or really tried to, tongue thick and heavy with sleep now that the pain was nothing more than a dull thought at the back of his head. Desmond's body knew too well that it needed to sleep, not only because it was dark, but his body would process the painkillers a lot faster than it said they lasted on the label and he might only have this chance to actually make it into a deep sleep.

Altair chuckled lowly in amusement when Desmond's mouth opened and moved a little to speak but nothing came out. "C'mon kid," he said and went to drag Desmond over to the head of the bed. It wouldn't be the first time Desmond had slept in his bed, he used to; when he was little. His or Connor's, because Bill was a hardass about everything including keeping Desmond away from the rest of the flock. Altair lay down on his side, Desmond next to him, the kid was practically asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Altair was tired, it was really late and he was ready to go back to sleep too. He shifted, kicked out the wing that was against the bed, it stuck out at a strange angle from his body, but it was comfortable. He raised the other one up before fanning it around Desmond, wrapping him in a cocoon of feathers, though didn't touch his back. Altair closed his eyes.

Dead to the world, he slept the rest of the night and woke with the sun even though he could not feel it. Pain came, immediate but second to the fact that Desmond knew that the sun was rising without seeing it. For a brief moment he felt fine, although disoriented somewhat, and in that moment pressed himself against the rigid flight feathers surrounding him as if he expected to be in a nest rather than a bed.

He carefully rolled himself onto his stomach, feeling the growing wings move through the fluid, still trapped. Desmond thought they were trying to spread, and buried his panic. There were crescent marks from his teeth in the meat of his thumb.

Unsure of exactly what changed, all he wanted then was them out so he could breathe.

Altair was awake when the sun was up and watched Desmond find it a few minutes later. He stayed where he was though, his big golden brown and sandy wing curled around Desmond's body like a shield from the sun that created diffused like through the curtains. "How do you feel?" he asked once he thought Desmond could function. The mounds on his back were significantly more translucent than Altair remembered them last night, either he'd seen them wrong..

Desmond let out a breath he hadn't quite realized he had been holding and sucked in another. "... Hurts," he ground out.

It wasn't that the wings were there surrounded completely in fluid, but coming to a point where they were stuck, folded awkwardly because they had grown into the space they had. The pain was a stiff kind of soreness that clung to his neck and shoulders like frostbite right before it went numb.

He forced himself to his knees, really only so that he could curl up in a pseudo fetal position. Desmond groped for his back, although his fingers stayed clear of the lumps, knowing the pain of touching them far too well.

Why the fuck weren't they just... born with them? Desmond did not feel like it was worth feeling like his spine was ripping from his body just to sprout a pair of wings. Each exhale was shaky, a little clipped. He was blocking the pain. Or, at least, what he could, which clearly was never enough.

"Yeah, they do," Altair agreed and pulled his wing up and retracted it as he sat up. He'd brought the bottle of vicodin with him last night. "Open your mouth," he said as he unscrewed the child safety cap and tapped a few into his palm. "Honestly why you don't have a bottle of these in your own room is beyond me," but then Altair had also destroyed medical equipment during his transition to winged avian because they wouldn't give him the strong stuff people like him needed to combat the pain of not just bones rearranging themselves, but also a whole new limb trying to burst out from under your skin. Since then he'd had a bottle of vicodin in his room at all times and no one said shit to him about it.

He took these dry, shaking like a leaf until his body went numb. It didn't quite relax, but he absolutely relished the feeling of the pain ebbing. Desmond twitched when he tried to straighten up a bit and he felt something warm and wet ooze a trail down his back. Having the abscesses leak wasn't new, but it made him stiffen. It was definitely thicker than the usual biological slurry.

"... Almost took too many," Desmond grunted. He dropped his head back into the pillow, eyes still screwed shut. "I want them out," he mumbled haltingly. "I just wanna eat, too, guh..." He could hardly keep anything down when the growing pains hit. Above all, though, he just wanted them out of his back where it didn't hurt anymore. It didn't help that they kept twitching and moving.

"They'll be out soon," Altair said and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. It was concerning though that Desmond didn't know how to regulate the pain meds. "We could go to the med ward, see if they'll take them out early," though he doubted it. Bill wouldn't let them until they were nearly about to burst out of Desmond's back. The only reason some of the others hadn't had to suffer through that was because the flock leaders were around to put Bill in his place. Bill and his wife didn't have wings, but Desmond got them from his mother's side of the family. With Desmond though guys like Haytham or Edward, the oldest avians they had around, had little sway over what happened to him. Desmond was Bill's son, and he'd do what he wanted with his son. It was annoying and destructive, but there wasn't much they could do other than... well... not tell Bill.

Desmond made a pitiful noise, high pitched and at the back of his throat. He really hoped he was nodding, though he was too busy trying to stop the limbs from moving. When he was completely under the medication, though, it didn't matter much.

He felt like his eyes were always red and puffy, and sniffed out of reflex, nose positively stuffed. It took some doing, but Desmond got himself to the edge of the bed. Any other pain than the ever-present one in his back would have been welcomed with open arms. Hell, he would've walked right into a blade if it put his wings to rest.

"Hey," Altair said as Desmond wriggled away from him. One of his wings moved to sort of cup Desmond from falling off the bed. That wouldn't be good, especially if he landed on his back. He crawled over to Desmond, holding his wing in place, "Do they still hurt?" Altair asked, even as he placed his hand on Desmond's back. When he didn't react in pain Altair pressed his hand firmly back against the moving limbs. Some liquid oozed from his pores, but nothing substantial. The wings still inside Desmond's skin tried to push against Altair's hand but he was stronger and after a moment of pushing they relaxed, like finally accepting they had to wait to be spread.

Desmond sagged when they gave in, feeling a knot of pain unravel for the time being. Of course, it was replaced by a pang of hunger. He could think and walk, and he had an appetite which was made clear by an empty, squelching growl of his stomach. It made his face flush in embarrassment.

Altair chuckled, "C'mon, lets go get some grub," he squeezed Desmond's shoulder and rolled out of bed, his own wings folding up a bit. He went to the bathroom, washed his hands and pissed before going back into the bedroom with a washcloth he used to wiped Desmond's back off. "C'mon, out of bed, food time," and he dragged Desmond up to his feet.

He stood - albeit a little unsteadily - even with Altair's help. It probably was not healthy for him to have skipped eating this long, even less so because his body had been burning through whatever reserves he had to grow these wings.

Desmond sat heavily in the mess hall, sinking into the normally uncomfortable stool. At least, as heavily as his frame would allow. When he remembered that the food was halfway across the room, he made to move again only to be made victim to a vicious headrush.

"Just sit," Altair said, pushing Desmond back onto the seat. Christ this kid needed something in his stomach and probably some supplements on top of that. He went to where you could get food and piled the plate high with carbs and calories. He saw someone there looked at him oddly, because there was a lot of food on the plate, and because Altair still wasn't wearing a shirt, but Altair glared at them and they looked away. Good. Fucking humans couldn't keep their damn eyes to themselves.

He went back to Desmond who looked pale and set the plate down, "Eat," he said, sitting across from him. He'd brought himself food too, a much smaller plate though full of empty calories and carbs his body would burn off without much effort.

When Altair presented him with the plate, Desmond disregarded utensils, manners and basically every function that did not include getting food from the plate to his stomach. He chewed though, but found he had to stop and wait a few times to actually pause, swallow and collect himself. Other than that, he ate like he always did: with a black hole stomach despite being unused to actually eating this much recently. 

Offhandedly, Desmond found himself hoping he didn't just turn around and puke, but holy shit, food was pretty goddamn amazing right now, and it definitely seemed to kickstart his metabolism. It also meant that wing growth would continue at a much faster pace since getting fresh energy.

 Altair watched Desmond eat, down the table some people regarded Desmond with disgust. Oh this would get around, that Bill's son had not only eaten with his hands, but also didn't seem concerned with stopping. Altair didn't mind. He'd watched Ezio go through a similar state a few years ago when his wings had finally grown in. He did however grab both of Desmond's wrists at one point and hold them down on the table. He'd eaten about half the food Altair had brought him at that point. "You need to stop for a second so you don't make yourself sick." Altair said, giving Desmond's wrists a squeeze and knew he couldn't pull away. "Also drink," he added, nodding at the water he'd gotten while Desmond had been eating. He let one of Desmond's wrists go.

Desmond's fingers flexed when his hands were pinned. He brought the released hand to his mouth so that he could lick his fingers before reaching over to grab the cup. The water wasn't as cold as what came out of Altair's tap, but it felt pretty awesome sliding down his throat.

He said his thanks with a hum, looking up at Altair until he was allowed control of both hands. Stopping and actually hearing what Altair had said didn't make him want to eat again - he'd already had plenty of fever dreams, involuntarily puking in order to stay light enough to flee, and other strange things that the surfacing avian parts of him supplied his unconscious with. Desmond was looking at the food with a deep frown when his brain supplied the memory and hormone-instinct.

"Desmond," Altair said, drawing Desmond's focus to him, away from the food. Desmond's eyes flickered back and forth from gold to brown like a flashlight going on the fritz his second eyelid blinking rapidly like a camera shutter. Shit. He needed to have that surgery, he'd start hallucinating soon. "Eat," he ordered. When he was done here he was going to see Ed and Haytham. Bill wanted to wait but damnit Desmond was one of theirs. Technically winged avians fell under the jurisdiction of the highest ranked member of the flock. There was a stupid rule that said those without wings still fell under human policies. It meant Bill called the shots. But this could be bad if Desmond was allowed to suffer much longer. His wings wanted to come out. He would talk to Ed and Haytham. Maybe they just... wouldn't tell Bill. Then by the time he found out he wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

His brows drew together and he glanced back at the plate. Desmond didn't exactly want to eat, and groaned, the sound not quite the usual guttural human noise. He ate, though, driven by training to obey those above him. The second bite had his stomach remembering how much it needed the food, and he seemed, by all matters, to forget whatever it was that he saw.

Desmond was almost done before his eyes flickered again. He dropped the cup of water that had been destined for his mouth and reeled back when it splashed across him. It shook him out of the stupor though, but whatever it was that he saw already upset his wings, abscesses beginning to ooze again as they tried to spread again, but were still too weak to break skin.

"Fucking... fucking... rattle-fuck," he snarled under his breath, still heaving for air.

"Shit," Altair hissed and got to his feet, quickly going around to the other side of the table. He grabbed Desmond's head to look at him, his wings coming around the both of them to shield Desmond from the stars of the other people eating breakfast. "Des," he said, using a gentle voice, Desmond blinked hard at him. Even from here he could see that the forms on Desmond's back were taunt, the skin thin and translucent, threatening to burst. "I'm taking you to the med ward," and he helped Desmond stand, one of his wings going around Desmond protectively and walked him out of the cafeteria. Fuck Bill these were coming out now.

Desmond was really lost. Altair's voice came swimming in as he slipped back under. It pulled him back up, but left him disoriented. He wasn't exactly quiet either, though it was mostly just a babbling mess that made a lot more sense to him than Altair.

His eyes cleared enough to be filled with pain, and that sound was a screeching scream. He didn't wanna be conscious, not when they came out, but he couldn't speak. Not when his mouth was too busy screaming on the exhale. It was really only horrible when the fact of the matter was Desmond's lungs simply held a lot more air even when he began to hyperventilate.

It wasn't as if he was cooperating very well with Altair either. No, he spent equal time screaming until it became hoarse as he spent trying to claw at his back and Altair both. He'd rather be hallucinating than feeling this.

In the medical ward, he ended up just panting mostly, regaining a tenuous control of his vocal chords.

Once he got Desmond into the med ward the doctors showed. "What's going on?" one asked as Altair stuffed a gag into his mouth. God. His head was ringing from all that crying.

"He needs to have his surgery, now," he said.

The two of them looked between each other, "We haven't gotten the go ahead from Bill-

Altair flared his wings out menacingly. The underside of his wings were the color of charcoal smeared sand. "I don't care," he growled. "You will perform the surgery now. We will deal with Bill's hissy fit once it's over. If you don't I will cut him open myself."

Again the two doctor's traded looks. Altair knew they were scared of him. Most humans were, scared of avians that was. Despite being lighter than humans their muscles were larger, their organs, especially their hearts and lungs, were larger. Their muscles made them faster, stronger, their hearts pumped more oxygen enriched blood through their bodies so they could react faster and think faster. "Okay," one said, "we'll prep him for surgery."

The table they strapped Desmond to was an old piece, but it did the job of holding a thrashing Avian still when medical attention was needed to perform a surgery. Sedating them was almost always out of the question. It never lasted for the time needed, or it simply did not work at all.

Through the haze of pain, Desmond was clearly not pleased. His eyes were wide, almost glowing hot enough to be completely white. He was afraid, even if he couldn't flinch at the sound of gloves snapping, or really feel the slight added pressure when one of the doctors used gauze and isopropyl alcohol to clean and prep the taut skin.

The older of the two whistled as he drew the mask up over his nose and mouth. Desmond had even begun feathering, even though they were only the semi-clear tubes of shafts, they made bumps in the thinning skin of his back that were visible.

It took most of the body weight of one of them to keep the wing still enough for the doctor to take a scalpel to Desmond's skin. They had barely re-situated for the right wing now when the left forced its way from Desmond's back explosively. That had Desmond screaming again even around the cloth gag to keep him from biting his tongue.

His wings certainly were not waiting, and Desmond flinched when the weight of the sticky, pus and coagulated blood covered limb flopped gracelessly against his back. There was blood and fluid pretty much across the entire room. The right wing tore ribbons of Desmond's flesh up with it, both looking almost too large to have fit against his back.

Both of the wings just trembled, muscles to move them exerted with just the task of forcing them out.

Desmond felt the tear tracks on his face, and slowly became aware of the sound of his blood dripping from the right wing, and a particularly wet slap as a strip of his skin (itself, mostly bloodless) hit the ground.

The blood was more from skin that normally would not have broken, and both doctors were already working on cleaning and mending it to prevent scarring. In itself, it was a mostly useless gesture. Most of the skin of the back sloughed off once the wings were free. The body simply scrapped all of that skin, since there was already a new set of layers for the wings. 

Altair stood with his arms folded behind the OR's doors. They had windows, you could see into the OR, which was honestly a glorified closet they'd made mostly sterile to perform surgeries in. They were important to have when you had avians in the area. Before modern medicine avians had just cut themselves to release the pressure of their wings, none of this surgery malarkey. 

His jaw clenched when he saw that Desmond was starting to feather. Bill had waited too long. Your wings were supposed to be naked when they came out; that was healthy. If they started to feather inside your body the follicles could become infected exposed to the pus and mucus of your wing sacks that nearly acted as open sores. At least now Bill couldn't sink his claws into Desmond. Edward was the oldest avian in the compound, the 'official' leader of their little flock, though Haytham often acted more towards that role.

Now Desmond was avian and Bill could fuck off for all Altair cared, he wasn't human anymore as far as chain of command went. Altair and the others would take care of him. He needed to tell the others Desmond's wings had come. But he didn't want to leave until his surgery was over. So he waited, watching as Desmond's body seemed to relax into the gurney now that he didn't have that harsh, unbearable, pressure on his back anymore.

Desmond waited as patiently as he could for them to remove and dispose of the gag and free him from the gurney. It wasn't until each follicle had been checked, and each inch of the pink, new flesh cleaned that he was allowed movement once more.

The dull ache and slight pain of ripped skin was nothing to him. They were feelings he was aware of, but not concerned with. More than anything, he was tired, exhausted, and ready to go back to sleep. To hell with the fucking sun and the fact that it was just past noon now.

He was allowed to leave once the doctors decided that the only side effect was fatigue. The limbs were awkward, half folding and unsure of how to move, and for a long time, Desmond just sat at the edge of the table, trying to wrap his mind around the extensions of his body.

One of the doctors came out and said they were done, Altair could go in if he wanted. Altair did so and Desmond looked up as he approached. Altair's wings flared out to half curl around Desmond, some of the edges of his feathers touched Desmond's naked wings. They were tiny things compared to Altair's, new and fragile despite their strength. But they would grow quickly.

The flock would make sure he was on a proper diet to not stunt their growth and to make sure the rest of his bones and muscles didn't suffer. "Hey," he said gently and tipped Desmond's head up gently. Desmond looked like he was about to fall asleep where he sat, "ready to go?" he asked.

Desmond jerked a little, finding it really weird that he could feel Altair's feathers brushing over the wings behind him. He realized that they itched, and when he noticed it, the feeling was like fire.

He nodded when he noticed that Altair wanted a reply.

"Good," he helped Desmond up, "The others will find out soon you had your surgery," if for no other reason than they could smell it. The smell was a bit overwhelming. It was similar to the idea of new puppy or new baby smell, avians who were going through their downy phase had a certain smell to them. Humans didn't notice, but to avians it was like holding up a big sign that yelled 'keep bad things away from me I'm fragile!' Every instinct Altair had wanted to take Desmond back to his room and keep him there until his first molting and his flying feathers grew out. At the very least he could take Desmond back so he could sleep, no doubt the rest of the flock would arrive at his door at some point to be told properly about Desmond's wings.

He placed a protective arm around Desmond's shoulders, his wing mirroring him, shielding Desmond's still very vulnerable back. Desmond didn't seem to care where he went or what happened to him, just glad he was probably going to probably go somewhere cool and able to sleep. Altair took him back to his room and showed him the bed. "Sleep on your stomach," he reminded Desmond before he just fell asleep any which way. At this stage he could still probably sleep on his back, but he'd wake up in pain if he did, not to mention he'd ruin Altair's sheets with his peeling skin.

He felt himself kind of tumble into Altair's bed, crawl up until he was comfortable. Desmond grumbled and buried his face in the pillows. It seemed to be just enough to make him forget the sun was up - exhaustion notwithstanding.

Desmond's wings twitched, and then stretched out before going limp against his back and the bed around him.


	2. The Flock

Altair grinned as Desmond basically went catatonic almost as soon as he hit the pillow. Altair tugged his sheet up around Desmond' hips, but not further so his new wings wouldn't get caught in them. As soon as he did there was a knocking on his bathroom room. He shared that bathroom with Ezio so when he went to get it it could only mean one thing.

Ezio was the first to rap his knuckles against Altair's door. It was simply because his room was closest, and he smelled Desmond's fresh wings. He spoke quietly, sure that the fledgeling was asleep. "Do I get to see before disappearing to gather the rest of the flock? How long were you going to keep him before getting Maestro?" He laughed quietly, easing off on the locked door to Altair's room.

Even just from the walk through the compound the others were becoming aware of the new chick, and already there were voices down the hall. Connor, trying to keep Yusuf's voice down, and Malik berating the both of them, swearing the lot of them were all hapless fledglings.

"He's sleeping," Altair said, standing in Ezio's way but so the other man could clearly see over his shoulder into the room. Desmond's shape was an obvious form on his bed. "Just let him have his sleep before the entire flock shows up and makes enough racket to raise the dead," it wasn't often the flock was all together in one place. Like one actual small place. They all slept in the same area but usually Altair didn't see more than three other avians a day except when every two or three days everyone got together to groom. When they did it was like a circus was in town.

"I'll let Ed and Haytham deal with Bill," though his feathers fluffed up saying that. He was angry that Bill had let it go on so long without putting Desmond through surgery. "I'm sure they'll both have some choice words for him." Especially Edward. He wasn't a man who got riled easily but when he did his black wings made him look like an avenging angel. Haytham was just as bad when angered. It wasn't in your interest to piss off the Kenways.

Connor was flapping about in the hall, as if he couldn't keep his own wings under control. It was really that Malik had one hand tight on the young man's hair to keep him from bowling down the door. Yusuf was getting the brunt of baby feathers, and he swore in Turkish at the both of them.

Ezio just laughed again. "I'll go find the elder Kenways. You get to deal with keeping little wolf from bowling down the door." He took the opportunity to slip out through his side of the bathroom.

Altair opened his mouth to reprimand Ezio, or at least ask him to stay, but no dice; Ezio was already gone. He frowned because even though they didn't knock he could hear the three men on the other side of the door, and smell them too. Connor was just losing his down, brown flying feathers replacing them after months of him jumping off the top of the compound trying to fly. Stupid kid. It also meant he was losing his fledgling smell, which was good because keeping an eye I'm Connor was like keeping an eye on a wolfhound.

Altair went over to the door and could hear Yusuf swearing at Connor. He opened the door and immediately put his hand out, catching Connor on the chest so he couldn't just barge into his room. "Hey," he said, mostly to the older men.

Connor frowned at Altair, trying to peek and push past him. "Come onnnn. Let me see Des," He grumbled, looking back at Malik to bat his hair free from his hand. He knew what Desmond was going through - especially the exhaustion afterward.

Malik was brushing feathers from his clothes. He was one of the few that actually wore shirts. Since his limp wing was amputated along with his arm, he didn't have as much of an issue putting a shirt on. They had been small wings anyway, nothing that he could glide on. He almost forced them to cut off the other wing, finding no use in having just one.

On the other hand, Yusuf kept himself in check. He was excited to see Desmond, but he'd been through the process once or twice already, there was no novelty that Connor was excited about. "Has anyone seen Rauf?" He asked, watching Ezio disappear down the hall.

"He's sleeping," Altair told Connor sternly, like that would satisfy the fledglings interest to see his friend. Connor was a but younger than Desmond but already had his wings, they came in at different ages for everyone, though usually closer to the end of puberty, and still didn't know how to not whap people with them by accident. He had been graceful before he got his wings, now he was just annoying.

More annoying.

"You can see him when he wakes up," which wouldn't be too long if Ezio had just gone to get the Kenways. Soon the rest of the flock would know and shut up and wanting to see their new little fledgling. "I've been at med basically since breakfast," he said as a way to answer Yusuf's question.

Connor sulked, and Yusuf took the pause to drag the boy off. "We're going to find Rauf," Yusuf told him, wings shuffling and folding tight behind him. The youngest of the group dragged his feet, his own wings drooping.

"You should delay waking him..." Malik reached for Altair's shoulder. "The boy looks like shit," he chuckled, slipping into Arabic. "Almost as bad as you." Back then, though, all of them looked pretty bad after their wings.

In the bed, Desmond shifted, mostly to free up his mouth to breathe better.

Elsewhere, Ezio had tracked down Ed and Haytham. He was sure they were aware of the latest addition to their flock, but he'd still let them know anyway. "He's asleep, but Bill won't be happy about it. Ezio's brows rose somewhat, the motion mimicked by a slight movement of his wings. "He looks even cuter than Connor, though." The teasing comment was light hearted - ever since he began spending more time with Yusuf, he made more jokes.

"Well until all the other idiots get here he can sleep," Altair said, speaking his mother tongue, "Kid showed up at my door last night begging for drugs like I was his dealer. Bill let it go on way too long," his wings rustler angrily even though he himself was in control. You couldn't always control your wings, sometimes they moved on emotional cues you couldn't control. Anger usually did that for Altair. "He's already starting to feather."

Edward frowned when he heard Desmond had come out of his surgery. "We'll deal with Bill," he said as Haytham's wings flicked in agitation. Haytham had just recently gone through Connor getting his wings, he was probably more irritated than most Bill would be so careless with his own son's health. "Not like he can do anything now anyway," since Desmond was part of his crew now, not Bill's.

Malik shook his head. "Do you trust the doctors' check?" He'd taken it upon himself to learn everything there was about their specific physiology. In short, Malik considered himself the Flock doctor. He sighed, single wing rustling. He had no love for the human doctors, even though they taught him quite a bit about medicine. Most of it was Malik spending time with his books, or speaking to Ziio about medicinal herbs.

Ezio nodded, feathers falling back into place. "I will find you when Desmond wakes." He ducked his head somewhat and backed off, knowing he would have enough time to grab some food before then. Either way, he supposed that the entire compound would be alive when the boy woke.

"They spent a good two hours going over his wings, making sure there were no infections or ingrown feathers," Altair said, and he'd watched them the entire time. They'd seemed to be extra extra thorough with a raptor avian watching them through the door. "He's Bill's kid, they wouldn't have fucked it up."

"Should we talk to Bill now, or later?" Edward asked his son.

"I would say now," Haytham said, "Let everyone else bother the boy right after now. We'll see him after," Haytham's wings were twitching a little, angry.

"Should I just do the talking?" Edward asked him, giving him a look. Haytham either needed to calm down or let Ed do it, since it wouldn't do him any good to get all riled up at Bill .

Bill was not happy at all to find out that Desmond had gone through the surgery without his knowing it. He had a lot of respect for their flock though, they were the ace of the Order, with feed and strength that human beings were hard pressed to match, especially when the global society collapsed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, regarding the two avians. "When do I get to see him?" He finally asked, giving in to their authority on the matter.

In Altair's bed, Desmond shifted again, wings twitching. He made a low groaning noise, burying his face into the pillows completely. He'd be waking up soon.

Malik almost smiled. "Go on, I'll keep the others occupied, my Brother." He reached out for Altair's shoulder, briefly clapping him.

By the others, he meant Yusuf, Connor and Rauf, who he guessed would be turning back up at any moment, probably with Yusuf talking Rauf's ear off, and Connor in grumpy tow.

"We'll decide that once we see him," Ed told Bill. Avians were protective of their fledglings, even if they were nearly adults themselves. They weren't common, avians, and their flock was one of the largest in the world, so every one of them was important to their species surviving. As it was it was amazing Desmond had been born one, there hadn't been an avian in his family in five generations on his mother's side. Lucky genetics had seen the recessive gene expressed. "Till then and he gets his own room he'll be staying with one of us. We'll let you know when you can see him again."

"Just try and keep them quiet at least for a few more minutes. He literally just came out of surgery," Altair said to Malik before he left. He closed the door and went back over to his bed where Desmond was all spread out on it like he was determined to take up every inch of space on the bed he possibly could. He sat next to him and looked down at Desmond's wings. After a moment he reached out and ran his hand across them. They were skinny and bony, the muscles mainly on his shoulders and chest. He'd have to exercise them to get them to be strong enough to move them as he willed them. They twitched when he touched them, bones and sinew flexing and Desmond made a noise in his sleep.

Desmond's wings pushed against Altair's hand, responding to the touch in a way that was unconsciously controlled. He seemed to let out a low trilling noise, but the sound stopped the moment he moved again. The feathers looked like little puffs of Q-tips, continuing to grow even while he had been sleeping.

He began to rouse, brows furrowing against the light. Desmond groaned, immediately disliking the brightness of the room.

"It's good you're waking," Altair said, taking his hand off Desmond's wing. Within a few days they'd be covered in a soft would start to grow. "The others have already showed up once trying to get in to see you," he told Desmond, one of his wings brushed against Desmond's back gently.

He grumbled, trying to burrow back into the pillows, but the more he tried to sleep, the faster it slipped from his grasp. Desmond gave in and cracked open one eye. The soft touch of Altair's feathers coaxed him back to complete consciousness.

"Al... ty?" He hadn't called him that since he was really young. Desmond blinked, rolling onto his side so he could rub his face.

"Who else would it be, honestly?" Altair snorted. "How do you feel? And don't say like shit you just had your wings taken out, you'll feel like shit."

Desmond pushed himself up completely, getting off of his wing completely. "I... not as tired but still really tired." He didn't actually feel that bad. Sore, sure, but the pain was nothing compared to before the wings came out.

He sat back, the limbs still twitching to promote blood flow and strength in the young muscles.

"Good," Altair said, "You haven't been out very long, but you did get a full night of sleep once you came here at least," his wings sagged a little in relief before moving so one circles around Desmond. "The rest of the flock'll show back up soon, so you might want to prepare yourself," he sighed, his wings brushing Desmond's back and new featherless limbs.

He reached up, touching Altair's feathers. "What do you mean prepare myself...?" Desmond glanced at the door, and then back at Altair. His wings took on a nervous twitch which calmed when he felt the larger wings encircling him.

"We'll they'll be excited, mainly," Altair said. It wasn't like Desmond didn't know who the flock was, the entire compound knew them. It was hard to overlook them after all, they were humans with wings. "And probably angry when I tell them your dad let you go far enough to feather," he brushed his feathers against Desmond's barely budding wings. Both of his wings had come up now, to circle around Desmond, helping to block out the light. Altair didn't even realize he was doing it honestly. Instinct was driven by the smell to protect a newly winged avian. He couldn't help himself. "I know there's been talk already what yours will look like once you molt," he grinned and tapped Desmond's chin.

Desmond snorted. "Connor won't tackle me, will he? Is that what you're saying?" His smile fell a little when Altair brought up Bill and how long it had taken. He shook his head slightly. "I didn't... I didn't want it to happen." Why he hadn't wanted the wings then was something he could hardly believe, even for himself. "I lied about it, I don't know, I thought I could ignore it or something, that they'd all just leave me alone and I wouldn't have this..." Desmond gestured uselessly with his hands, wings extending somewhat while he did so. "This... prophecy or whatever to live up to. It was stupid."

He covered his face, mostly naked wings drawing close to his body as he turned away from Altair's hand, still mulling over the things Altair had said. Honestly, he had no idea why he just let everything out like that when the only mention of fault was vaguely pointed toward his father. Was he feeling like he had to defend him even if he didn't really like the man? Desmond peered up at Altair after a while, blinking a little dumbly.

Altair could honestly say he had no idea /what/ Desmond was talking about. He knew that Bill pushed Desmond harder and that he was allowed to because he wasn't one of them yet and the Kenways couldn't interfere until Desmond's wings sprouted. Altair frowned at Desmond in confusion. "What?" He asked, his wings fanning out, underling from around Desmond. "What prophesy, what the hell has Bill been doing?" Something told him he wasn't going to like what he was going to hear.

Desmond made a slight face and looked away, but he did respond. "The Apple, and all of that other past-future tech, or whatever. The stuff left behind by the creepy space assholes...?" He fidgeted. "Remember how I could open the door even when Connor couldn't? I mean, we both unlocked Eagle Vision at the same time... but the door, the lock in the archives, I dunno, I just opened it, no problem. God, I was so little, it was so stupid, thinking back on it. Why in the hell did I ever show anything to Bill...?"

At the time, he hadn't had words for the tests Bill ran, but they were all manner of things. Genetics, brain activity. Desmond sighed. "I've got all this stuff that I'm supposed to be able to do, and I think I do know how I'm supposed to do it, but I'm just too stupid to actually do any of it."

Or he got older and figured out that doing all of those things meant he had to stay inside all the time while everyone else went outside, and simply stopped doing it.

Altair still felt lost. He wasn't used to feeling like this. He was third under Haytham in the hierarchy, he knew shit, knew the going on of what happened in the compound too. But right now he was just... Confused. He didn't like the feeling at all. "You just wait right here, I'll be back in a few minutes," and he got up from the bed. His wingtips brushed against Desmond briefly before folding up.

When he left the room he saw Malik dealing with the others a bit down the hall. They all heard him open the door and looked as he stepped out. "He's awake, you can see him. I'm going to find the Kenways. Just don't kill him Connor," and he left, cause that was all he really had to say. The others would keep Connor in check.

Desmond didn't really like it when Altair drew back to leave. He frowned, preferring not to wait right there, but the moment he left, Connor squeezed into the room - much to Malik's irritation - and threw his arms around his friend. The impact was surprisingly light, and Connor was somehow mindful of Desmond's new wings.

"Aaah, you're already feathering? Lucky." He gave the newest fledgeling a lopsided grin, and spread his own molting wings a little to show off the feathers that were growing in.

A little detached from the smile on his own face, Desmond snorted. "Connor, you're hugging me." He let the younger man's arms fall away, and turned his attention to the new, harder feathers that were growing in through Connor's fluffy downy ones.

Malik was quick to berate him, of course complaining about the feathers now strewn across Altair's room. His dark, mottled wing darted out from behind his shoulder to smack the youngest Kenway across the back of the head, and Desmond couldn't help but laugh at it.

Yusuf's excitement got the better of him and he dragged Rauf into the room, nearly losing iridescent blue feathers in the process. He wedged himself in beside Connor and grabbed Desmond's face in his hands, a huge, warm smile across his face. "Look at our new little chick! Welcome, Desmond, don't look so sad." His smile grew a little sly as he uncannily hit close to home. Yusuf may not have Eagle Vision, but he had a very good grasp of other's emotions.

The slyness faded as quickly as it came, and he tapped Desmond's nose. "Smile like you mean it, my friend!"

Ezio ran into Altair somewhere between the mess hall and the Avian quarters. "Seeing you down here, I assume Desmond woke up, and you're going to find Ed and Haytham?" He didn't wait for a response, just gently clapped Altair's shoulder. "Ah, that's good, I'll just head up to see him then," Ezio continued with his trademark congenial smile. With a rustle of his wings, he moved aside and continued toward their quarters.

Altair found the Kenways as they were leaving the area where Bill has his office. "Altair, what are you doing here?" Haytham asked, they both knew Altair didn't like associating with humans unless he had to. As it was he rarely left the avian wing unless it was to eat, train, or fly.

Altair looked at them, looked at the door and back to them. "You're going to want to talk to Desmond," he said. "He said something... Troubling."

"Like what?" and Haytham's wings moved a little, showing his unease.

"You're just going to want to talk to him," Altair said and when his eyes went to Bill's door again the Kenways turned to look as well.

"Ah," Haytham said, "Well, let's go talk to the new kid shall we?" Altair followed after Haytham and Edward as they headed for the avian wing.

"Yusuf, let the kid breathe," Rauf said, he was standing next to Malik. "Honestly it's like you've never seen a new avian in your life," though he also found it amusing, how easily his Yusuf got excited. Not to mention that Connor actually seemed so as well.

Yusuf glanced back at Rauf and made a face at him. He relented, though, and gave Desmond more space.

Connor finished extracting himself from Desmond, clearing his throat somewhat. He folded his wings to sit at the edge of the bed beside him, gently picking through the growing feathers, preening them in a way he had found eased the itching. Desmond was clearly thankful for it.

Ezio arrived, taking to leaning against the wall to remain slightly removed from Desmond's space. He could only imagine how overwhelming it was with the growing ranks of their flock - there had only been four others when he became one of them, but now they were nearly ten strong.


	3. Keyless Entry

It took the three of them a few minutes to get back to the avian wing. Haytham had had to be convinced not to go feed Bill his teeth after Altair told them the situation, and that Desmond had started to feather already. Haytham wasn't an easy guy to get totally calm once he was a bit riled, but Altair and Edward managed.

The smell of fledglings coming from Altair's room was pretty much overpowering. Desmond was in there and no doubt Connor was too, doubling the smell and resource to any other avian. When Altair opened the door he found nearly half the flock on his bed. And of course the open door drew attention to them. "This is the last time I wanna see that many half naked men on my bed," Altair said. Edward held back a laugh, Rauf however did not.

Yusuf, like Rauf beside him, did not bother to keep his laughter to himself. "I thought you made no jokes. Maybe I am rubbing off on you." He offered a smile to the older members of the flock which faltered somewhat. The slight air of tight-lipped anger wasn't lost on him. "And we're leaving all of that nonsense at the door, right?"

Wings twitching, Desmond straightened up a bit when he saw Altair. Twitching was putting the movement lightly - he pretty much battered Connor's face, and the both of them flinched. Connor more surprised and Desmond more sheepish. It at least got them to settle a bit, although Desmond's half-grown feathers were flared out. When he noticed, he could not get them to lie flat which only served to embarrass him further.

Malik only tutted under his breath at the display. You put wings on a pair of nineteen-year-olds and they're reduced to floundering children once more.

"Nonsense?" Edward asked "What nonsense?" He looked at his son, who was predictably rolling his eyes. Haytham had the patience of a saint to have a father like Edward. That or just repeated hit his head against a wall. Altair wasn't quite sure which. "We're here to see the new kid," though of course everyone knew Desmond.

Desmond blinked, not understanding the exchange. He felt alright though, like he was actually home. "Uh. Hi guys." It wasn't as if he could say there was nothing to see. He had just sprouted a pair of wings. They shuffled and folded behind him, betraying his nervousness. His eyes flicked between Altair and the older Kenways, and then down to his lap.

Connor tipped his head, watching his father. He smiled a little, despite himself, at his grandfather. His fingers laced and he folded his hands in his lap to keep himself from preening Desmond. He was aware that it was instinct to, and rarely inhibited his instincts when it came to the Avian side, so it was a slight struggle for him.

Malik stood aside, though he was amused enough, it did not show on his face.

Altair closed the door as they walked over to the bed, clearly unhappy Connor and Yusuf had decided they could perch on it. Altair's bed was a personal space. "How you feeling?" Edward asked him.

Yusuf did stand when Altair neared, that in itself a kind of apology. Connor was impervious to the situation, and remained beside Desmond. They were best friends, and had been for a long time, and he was going to stay there unless he was told to move. His obstinance was wordless.

"I'm fine," Desmond responded, taking a breath as he was finally able to get his feathers to lay flat. "A little warm since everyone decided to show up... and really, really itchy." He'd been afraid to touch his wings to soothe the itch himself, and wasn't quite sure what Connor had been doing earlier. He was pretty much sitting on his hands.

Edward snorted, "Then maybe we should give you some breathing room eh? I'm sure Altair is thrilled all of you are in here, breathing his personal air," and Altair scowled as if his displeasure of his room having become a circus performance wasn't clear enough. He didn't like people in his room. He especially didn't like nearly a dozen people in his room. "Honestly, everyone so interested in seeing the new fledgling didn't even give him a time to shower or anything," and if that didn't make it obvious to the others nothing would. Thankfully most of the flock was smart enough to get that they needed to leave, for whatever reason.

"C'mon you," Rauf grabbed Yusuf's hand, "I want lunch before they put it all away," and he didn't really give Yusuf an option, just sort of expected him to come along. Not that Yusuf wouldn't, they practically we're attached at the hip.

Yusuf tagged along behind Rauf, and ended up roping Ezio along with him too, although he split off for his own room since he had eaten earlier. "I didn't realize I was so hungry," he admitted in the hall.

Connor's wings sagged as he slouched. "I'll see you later," he said quietly, letting himself be more or less herded out of the room by Malik. If Altair didn't like this many people in his room, he shouldn't have kept Desmond there in the first place.

"Should I have? Showered, I mean." His gaze snapped back to Edward after Connor and Malik disappeared through the door. All things considered, Desmond did feel particularly grody.

Edward shrugged, his long, black, wings ruffling a little. "If you want, we'll wait," he said.

"I'll give you guys some privacy," Altair said and made his way to the door.

Desmond bit the inside of his cheek, watching Altair. "... Wait. Just gimme a sec, okay?" He stumbled a bit when he stood and rushed for the shared bathroom. "You better not leave." From the doorway to the bathroom, he stared at Altair before disappearing to shower, a flurry of awkward young wings.

He tried to take a quick shower, he really did, but feeling the water on his wings was way too strange to just dismiss. The fluffy bits of feather just soaked up the water, and he quickly learned that the weight would be incredibly uncomfortable if he got them wet with actual feathers, especially downy ones like he was growing. Desmond spent awhile trying to figure out how to move them a little better, and got a few good hits against the wall for his effort before managing to operate them with some finesse.

Turning back into the spray, he rinsed himself off and shook out his wings. It certainly eased the itching, but Desmond had learned rather quickly why most birds seemed to prefer dust baths to wet ones. He also found out that he was growing feathers across the space between his wings, and a lot of the skin had already been replaced.

He came out of the bathroom with a borrowed towel - it smelled like Altair, so he assumed it was one he could use - on his head, and his jeans pulled back up over his hips. Desmond had wished briefly for a clean pair, but he made do with what he had.

Haytham and Edward looked at Altair when Desmond left, Altair just furrowed his brow. "So what should we expect?" Haytham asked Altair as they heard the shower start.

"Bill is up to something," Altair said. "I came and got you instead of asking questions, so we could do it once instead of two or three times. It's something about Those Who Came Before and the archive."

Edward sucked his teeth, "Yeah, that doesn't sound good," he agreed. He and Haytham sat in some of the chairs in Altair's room while he sat on the bed. "He been here since he got out of surgery?"

"Yeah, I was practically the first person who saw him. I assume Bill's been told by now?"

"He has. He wants to see Desmond now," Haytham said and Altair's eyes narrowed. He didn't want anyone not avian near Desmond. He knew most of the flock probably felt the same. They'd wait until all his baby feathers had come in before they let Bill see his son.

"He can wait, just like everyone else," Altair said.

Edward chuckled, "That is pretty much what we told him." They waited for Desmond come out, Altair about to get up when they heard wings thump against the shower wall, Haytham just told him to sit. Altair picked at his feathers a bit while they waited, cleaning them. Then the door opened and Desmond came out, very nearly dripping, his nearly naked wings shiny with water.  
He stood in the doorway for a moment, head canted slightly. Desmond tugged the towel off of his head after drying his short hair. "I didn't mean to take that long." He tried to pass a smile as he moved toward the bed to sit beside Altair.

"So I have to tell you too?" Desmond asked, half folding the damp towel in his lap.  
"Well we aren't quite sure what it is you need to tell us," Haytham said, giving Altair a look as he moved over to give Desmond room at the end of the bed. "I think you should start with your father."

Desmond fidgeted. "I'm not sure what you want to know. He just had me do a bunch of different kinds of things, the regular training on top of the Avian stuff." His wings folded a little tighter. "It started when I could open the door to this side of the compound, I guess. Bill suddenly took an interest."

"We'll of course you could open the door," Haytham said, "You're avian, with or without wings. Did you father seem to forget that just because they hadn't come in yet?"

"And what sort of stuff did he make you do?" Edward asked. Altair felt a bit bad for Desmond, the Kenways could be intimidating. "You make it sound like he was testing you. What was he doing?"

"Yeah, well... when you haven't had Avian blood in your family for decades... Could Connor open the door before his wings?" Desmond couldn't really remember. "I got into the archives too, where the artifacts are. I don't know, it was quiet there, and I knew Bill couldn't get in there. I still don't know why I showed him."

That surprised everyone, "Wait, you got into the archive?" Altair asked. Only certain people could get in there without a key, and Desmond definitely did not have a key.

"And you showed your father?" Haytham asked. Non avians weren't normally allowed in the archive which housed the pieces of Eden. They had a sort of siren song to them that humans were horribly susceptible to. Avians were able to resist the desire to pick up and use the artifacts the way humans couldn't. So for good reason the archive was restricted to humans unless one of the flock was with them, to open the doors, and watch them.

Desmond glanced at Altair, then looked away, every ounce avoidant. He nodded slowly. "I... told him I could open the doors." He had always thought that the Pieces were so lonely and sad. The feeling lessened as he got older, before he learned what they were capable of, what people had done with them in the past. Still, he could never shake the loneliness.

It wasn't much, but his wings unfolded enough to kind of curve around his shoulders.  
"I showed him, or... well he found me leaving the room. I was a kid, I didn't know, other than the fact that no one else really should be in there. And since I hated all that training crap, I just hid out in there a lot." Whether or not Bill had actually seen Desmond leaving the sealed room, there were plenty of cameras and security feeds, he would have been found out one way or another.

"Did he ever go in there with you? Can you still open the door?" Haytham asked. He knew that as children avians could do all sorts of things they couldn't as fully grown adults. Like sing like birds, Connor had been able to speak to birds. He'd lost the ability as he got older, but Haytham would never forget his son telling him what one of the wild pigeons who lived around the compound was saying.

He shook his head again. "No, he didn't go in with me." Desmond hesitated when it came to the second question. "I think I can. Last time I went in there, I was... fifteen? I mean, I thought they were just singing, making noises that weren't words. It got creepy when I realized they were words, I didn't understand, but I was pretty sure they were talking."

The three of them looked at each other, "Singing?" Edward asked carefully. "What do you mean singing?" Of the flock he went into the archive the most. He had the key. He'd been in the room with the artifacts and they always crepes him out. They were also silent. He'd never heard them sing, he usually refrained from touching them if he could help it.

"Uh, yeah. Singing." Desmond didn't look as unsure as he felt. He knew the songs, he still remembered them, used to sing them back, even. "I don't really know how to explain it other than that."

He rubbed his arms, finding his lap incredibly interesting. "I guess Bill wanted more sway... I mean, they don't really have anything to do with what goes on with the flock."

"So he wanted you to open the archive for him?" Haytham asked and his wings flared outward angrily, his feathers puffing our to make him and them look bigger and more intimidating. "What else did he want you to do before he lost his hold on you?"

Desmond's shoulders rose somewhat, wings following suit. "I never opened the archive for him. I think he wanted a say with the flock, he wanted to be there when I woke up."  
"Good," Haytham said.

Edward was pensive, "Well he'll be able to see you once your down has come in," he said. "Altair watch him till then."

"Ed, I have stuff to do," he tried to protest.

"It can wait a few days," Edward rolled his eyes at him. He made a face and looked at his son, "Anything you'd like the add?" he asked.

"No," Haytham said, eyeing Desmond. "Though I do have some words for Bill and his stupidity," his eyes going to Desmond's wings, making his frown deepen.

"Look, I really don't want to get in the way of anything-" He tucked his wings close, shying away somewhat from Haytham. He opened his mouth as if to defend Bill, but closed it with a huffing sigh. It wasn't worth it.

Desmond looked toward Altair, not liking the notion he'd be a burden. "I don't really want to see him," he said slowly. "But if I have to, I'll see him out there, not here." He didn't want Bill in here, or anywhere in the Avian quarters.

"If you don't want to you don't have to," Edward said, "You're one of us now, and no one tells my flock what to do-

"Except you," Altair muttered.

"We'll obviously Altair. I am the one in charge. You can bicker with Haytham about it when I die if you want," Edward didn't even seem bothered talking like that, though Altair made an apologetic face. "C'mon boy," he said to Haytham and with a groan of someone his age Edward got out of his chair. "Keep an eye on him," Edward added to Altair as he and Haytham left.

Altair looked over at Desmond and rose his brows at him.

Desmond's head tipped somewhat. "What." His brows furrowed in contrast, but the next few moments had him trying to quell the itching of his wings. Through all of that, his feathers were still wet but definitely taking their sweet time drying.

Altair huffed a sigh and got up from the bed. "That'll be the last time you take a shower like that until your flight wings come in," Altair said, going over to his closer and pulling out another towel. "Unless you want to walk around with wet wings for a few days, which is not something I recommend. Especially downy wings," his wings flared a bit to stabilize him as he kneeled on the bed behind Desmond and pressed the towel to his wet wing. "You can get mold and mildew in them if you aren't careful," his hands were gentle as he rubbed Desmond's wings to help get the water off.

"Yeah I... kind of figured that out... Noted, though." Desmond extended his wings and relaxed. "How long is it supposed to take? My first feathers, I mean." He twisted somewhat, trying to look back at Altair without moving too much.

"Few months maybe," Altair said, "Once your wings stop growing you'll molt," and oh that would be a joy. Nothing like avian down feathers everywhere. He already has some in here and Connor had only been in here a few minutes. "If they're small they'll take less time. Malik only had a few weeks till his molted," Altair's had taken months. But then he also had one of the largest wingspans of the flock.

Desmond sat normally again, letting his head hang. "I... have a feeling they won't be small," he muttered, propping his chin up in his hand. "What's all the stuff you said you had to do? 

Watching me won't get in the way, will it?" He didn't even question the idea of being watched or practically chaperoned. It didn't matter, it was Altair, and he liked Altair plenty.

"Just some stuff, don't worry about it," Altair sighed. It was mostly housekeeping bull shit anyway and dealing with humans. Altair's favorite thing: dealing with humans. "You can just stay in here or your room if I don't drag you along."

"My room's way too hot." He scowled off at the wall. "I'll just stay in here then... Although I guess I should say hi to Shaun and Rebecca at some point... Lucy, too." Desmond was just musing out loud now.

"Desmond... You'll get your own room in this part of the compound. You can set it whatever temperature you want," he reminded Desmond. Their wing had heaters honestly since the main temperature for their wing was nearly sixty degrees. Or in winter they just opened their windows. Very rarely did the avian wing close it's windows during the winter. Unless it was a blizzard usually.

Desmond made a face. "Fiiiine." He folded his wings back up, the small fluffy feathers between them prickling up before lying flat. "You're just trying to kick me out already."

"Don't be a baby," Altair rolled his eyes, "This is my room. And clearly you have no problem finding it if you need it," he took both towels and threw them into the hamper. "Now let's go to your old room and pack up your stuff. You can pick one of the empty rooms here once we do," Altair said, going to the door, clearly leaving no place for Desmond to argue.

Even if he had no room to argue, he'd gripe about it along the way, not that he meant it completely. Desmond felt strange walking back to his room. He kept his wings folded against his back as if that would make their half feathered state any less obvious. 

Packing his things went pretty quickly. Clothes, shoes, soap - Desmond just stuffed everything that was clean into one bag. He dropped his jeans, and tugged on a pair of sweats in their place before tossing the jeans in with his satchel of dirty clothes. 

Desmond very nearly just slung the bags over his shoulder. He just barely remembered to draw his wing out of the way. It was a slow process, but he was becoming spatially aware of the limbs now, tucking them a bit more through doors and when passing in the halls.

"See, not so bad," Altair said as they left Desmond's room. Altair had an annoying time getting in, since the doorway was small, the ones in their wing we're a little bit wider. He always had an annoying time getting into any door made for a human, some of his feathers always touched. "I'll drop you off at your room and you can settle in till dinner," which wasn't that far off now since it had taken a few hours to clear out and clean up Desmond's room.

"Sure." Desmond left things in his old room that he didn't care for - they'd all be disposed of anyway if he didn't take them. He did tuck his pillow under his arm before leaving though.  
His new room wasn't too different from the last one. The bed was definitely more than a shitty little twin, though, and he actually had an open-able window. Desmond dropped his things on the bed and immediately went for it, just to push the panes open and lean on the sill.

Even though he knew he definitely couldn't fly, not with his wings like this, they rose a little, q-tip feathers spreading slightly when a gust of wind made it through the window. It was warm air, but Desmond didn't give a crap. He just wished he could fit through the window so he could climb to the top of the compound from there. Of course, there was no advantage to that, he just kind of wanted to be able to go outside.

"Don't fall out the window," Altair said, "I don't want to have to explain to Ed that you tried to fly before your feathers came in." It wasn't a long fall, but it's still hurt. Altair knew he'd be able to catch himself if he happened to fall out, so he didn't do something stupid and land on his back. Desmond wasn't that bodily aware yet though.

Desmond snorted. "I'm not. It just feels really nice... you know?" He closed his eyes, head ducking to rest on the sill between his elbows as he felt his wings open in a wide 'V'. If these tiny breaths of air on his feathers made him this calm and happy, he couldn't imagine what flying would be like.

Rather than get up to look back at Altair, he just swung his hips to the side. "I thought you were just dropping me off?" His neck hurt from craning to see him from the decidedly awkward angle and he straightened himself back up, wings folding a little easier.

"I am," Altair said, his eyes going back up to Desmond's face instead of where they shouldn't have been. "Me or someone else will come get you for dinner."

He turned away from the window, crossing the room. "Should be you," Desmond said with half a smile, and then busied himself with unpacking and putting away his things.

From the amount of feathers in the bathroom, he figured he shared it with Connor. He supposed it was only fair, he was the 'youngest.'


	4. Better Left Unsaid

Altair knocked on Desmond's door. In the past few days his down had come out and his wings were made of soft, fluffy, gray feathers. So far they'd just worried about them coming in, but as he'd told Desmond the first day; you couldn't really shower with them. Desmond had missed the last time the flock had groomed each other, because he didn't really have any feathers to groom. But they were doing it tomorrow and no doubt it would take a while to get his fluffy wings clean if he wasn't doing it himself a little each day like the rest of them. Thing was was that wing grooming wasn't something you just knew, you needed to learn how to do it, and avians only let other avians and humans they trusted close enough to groom their wings for them. Altair had mentioned it to Ed and without missing a beat the flock leader had said, 'then you teach him' and that had been the end of that. So now Altair was here, knocking on Desmond's door.

He knew it was Altair at his door before even opening it. He'd learned things like the mannerisms, sounds, and even scents of the rest of the flock. Desmond stood in the doorway with wings that were way too fluffy for their own good. He felt like he had poseable cotton balls extruding from his back, and he had no idea how to keep them clean other than... not get them dirty.  
Since the feathers coming in, he'd had one incident where they had gotten soaked. It was Connor's fault, and he made him help dry them off. Although convincing any of the rest of the flock to do things for him was a lot easier than when he'd been a kid (he had no idea about the fledgeling scent).

"I heard you were supposed to teach me how to clean these?" Of course, Connor had heard and told him.

"Do not look so happy about it," Altair said. He could already foresee himself covered in down feathers by the time this was over. "But yeah, I am," he didn't bother to ask how Desmond knew. Once something happened to someone in the flock /everyone/ found out eventually. Rauf and Yusuf had kept being together to themselves all of about five hours before everyone knew. It wasn't that you couldn't have secrets, it was just that it was so easy everyone to know.

"Just because you aren't happy about it doesn't mean I can't be." Desmond grinned, moving aside for him. He went straight for his bed and plunked himself down right in the middle of it, wings half spread. Understanding the concept was easy. Knowing how to do it was a different issue entirely. Unless the flock didn't mind a couple of pinched feathers while Desmond bumbled his way through figuring it out on his own.

Altair say down with a grunt next to and a bit behind Desmond and tugged the down covered wing into his lap, very short of manhandling it. "It's kinda like brushing your hair with your fingers," Altair said and started to run his fingers through Desmond's soft feathers. "Your feathers don't really let dirt cling to them, but they will get dirt down in them. Once your flight feathers come in," Altair expanded his wings, like he needed to remind Desmond how great they were, "you can get them wet again, at least a little bit. Unless you have wings like Ed who has wings like a water fowl."

It did feel almost like hands and fingers in his hair, albeit the feathers were much larger than his hair follicles, and each could move almost independently. That was something that would take some getting used to. He could flex the primaries out and ruffle them on cue, but getting them back into place was definitely easier said than done. 

Desmond angled himself so he could see what Altair was doing. It wasn't long until his fingers itched to comb through Altair's feathers, and when they were opened up, he took it as an invitation and began to mimic him.

Desmond's wings had grown substantially over the few days his first feathers grew in, making up for size what they had been delayed in time. "Will they stop growing when I molt?" he asked, glancing up at Altair's face.

"Your wings? Yes, just like birds our first molt is when our wings are at their full length," Altair said and moved his wing a bit so Desmond could pick through it with greater ease. "You also want to be on the lookout for crooked feathers, or loose ones. Just tug out the loose ones if you can and make the crooked ones lay the same direction as the others," he removed his hand from Desmond's fluff and came away with four little down feathers he knew Desmond hadn't even felt him pull out.

He binked at the four feathers that looked more like fluff, finding it amusing that he hadn't even felt it. Desmond kept preening Altair, careful as he picked through the feathers. He was hesitant when he thought he found a loose one. Eventually, he just tugged it out, turning it over in his hands. 

Desmond hadn't had one of Altair's feathers in a long time. "They're different," he said, tracing the vein with his finger. "Different than I remember them, at least."

"Eh," Altair shrugged, "Some lose pigment sometimes, or change with the season a bit," he now had a handful of fluffy down. "Rauf's turn a bit red during autumn, we aren't sure why. As you get older, or sick or anything really. You spend enough time with us you really get to see how the colors may change," he picked the feather out of Desmond's hand. "This one is old," he said and then put it down.

Desmond spread his wings further and scooted closer to Altair, fully intending to keep preening. He ended up just tracing feathers. "So yours change with the season too?" 

Honestly, it was incredibly calming to have his wings cleaned like this. Not too far from gentle scratching at his scalp, but without the awkwardness. He certainly liked it, but he wasn't sure how much of it was just Altair.

"A little," Altair shrugged a bit, "they get a bit duller during winter," he flapped them a little, blowing the feathers he'd pulled out away, not that he cared, they were in Desmond's room, and it was his responsibility to clean up. "You also need to groom yourself between the flock grooming days," he added, "otherwise we'll literally be here all day at this," he sighed, and he tucked his wings back up behind him as best he could, and even then they still didn't.

He startled somewhat when Altair flapped, ducking somewhat. Desmond shuffled his own wings, one or two more feathers falling from them. "And preening me is that bad?" He took a look around. "Oh. Yeah I guess it makes a mess," he said, answering himself with a sheepish grin. "Come on, though, you know you wanna bury your face in these. They're pretty fucking soft."  
Desmond's grin became a wry smile.

Altair chuckled, "It's just a pain," Altair said and tapped Desmond on the head with the apex of his wing. "And you can't rely on the flock to clean your wings for you. You need to be able to do it yourself."

Desmond batted at Altair's wing with his hand. "I know, I know. It's just nice when you do it." He had no other experience to compare it to, but the words came either way. He began picking up the feathers strewn across his bed. 

"So... what, I'm supposed to show up when? For the massive flock preening deal?"

"It's after dinner tomorrow," Altair said, "we take a few hours to get all the parts we can't get on our own. Like on the back, and the shoulders, and the parts close to our bodies," Altair ran his fingers through those parts of Desmond's fluffy wings.

His back straightened considerably when Altair reached the collection of feathers across the short expanse of his back between his wings. They fluffed out, and he made an embarrassingly high pitched noise. Desmond refused to call it anything close to a chirp. He had also ended up crushing the feathers in his hand.

Altair laughed again, "Which is why you need to clean your wings as best you can by yourself. We'll get what you can’t," he carded his fingers through Desmond's feathers on his back easily, amused by the little chirp Desmond had just made.

Desmond clearly had little clue exactly what sounds he could make, or the extent of them. As embarrassing as they were, similar but softer sounds kept coming. He glared at Altair, half-hearted. Not once did he ever want or even think to tell him to stop.

He interrupted the noise by sucking in a breath. "What... are you doing?" Desmond still hadn't gotten rid of the feathers, and his wings twitched open somewhat.

"Just grooming. You ticklish?" he asked with a little grin. "Honestly I haven't seen anyone chirp since Yusuf got his wings." He ruffled Desmond's fluff affectionately.

Desmond wished it was that he was only ticklish. "Guess so," he muttered, and even though he expected the trilling chirp, it still managed to make it out of his mouth. His face was positively red, and the way his wings rose about his shoulders made his chagrin just as clear.

"I really don't think I can do anything about it." His protest was lost. "You almost treat me better now than when I was a kid, Alty. When're you gonna admit you like me more than anybody else?" Desmond hid behind prodding jokes and vague sarcasm.

"Heh," Altair took his hands off Desmond realizing maybe he was being a bit too touchy feely. He couldn't help it. He was in a closed room with a fledgling. Desmond was literally all Altair could smell. Damn fledgling scent. "Don't get used to it," Altair said.

"Don't stop-" The words tumbled out of his mouth, and a few things happened rather quickly after that. Desmond's wings shuffled, rising with his shoulders. He also froze, throat working silently. Oh God, he wanted to die.

Desmond flinched, prematurely expecting Altair to respond with an insult with nervous apologies already on his lips. He came pretty damn close to hitting Altair with his wings, just short of flapping them nervously.

So maybe he didn't want to die, exactly, but he did wish it wasn't so obvious that he wanted the older Avian manhandling the literal fuck out of him.

Altair leaned back when Desmond lost control of his wings and they moved erratically. He grabbed one and pressed it down, "What's into you?" he asked, holding onto the wing so it didn't bat him in the face.

Desmond practically snorted. "What's into me?" He parroted Altair, turning toward him. "Maybe I've spent the last five years wishing I was older, and I am, and you're treating me... like a child and I don't really mind or want you to stop. Now I'm just wishing it was a little more..." He glanced pointedly away, still just as red. "Um. R. Cuz this is all kind of... PG, which is great but... not great."

No-no-no, he had to stop talking. At least before he made a complete and utter fool of himself.  
His wings relaxed, though the one Altair grabbed trembled.

Altair blinked at Desmond slowly. He didn't respond particularly quick to surprises, never really had. In action he could respond because it was a bodily reaction. But when it came to surprising involving people... He was just kinda slow. Also he admitted he could sometimes be socially retarded and didn't always get people. He thought Desmond was pretty clear though. He just sort of stared at Desmond, confused by what was going on really and why he was saying that. Altair treated Desmond like his kid brother in a way, and yeah he was protective of him but it was always... Platonic.

Altair was also usually blunt and to the point when it came to others. He wasn't subtle when he came to his relationships, he just how he was with them, and how he felt he should be with them. Truthfully he'd never thought of Desmond like that and suddenly didn't think of him like that now. "You what?" of course he knew what Desmond meant. It was more... why.

On the other hand, Desmond hadn’t blinked, and the nictitating membrane slid across his eyes. At least he’d gone back to looking at Altair. He took a breath and seemed to hold it, brow furrowing as if he was struggling to find words. The truth was, they were there in his mouth, he just didn’t feel ready to say them.

“Not gonna lie here, I think about you fucking me.” And then he did, with a low rush of air.  
Desmond went for the simplest one, but it was far from the only thing he thought about. For a while, in the past, it had made it almost unbearably awkward to be anywhere near Altair, he would just be reminded, over and over. At first, it made him feel pretty guilty, since Altair really did treat him like a little brother, and in response to that, Desmond... had some pretty hard fantasies in his alone time.  
He got over the guilt, but that didn’t ease his imagination.

Altair's mouth literally fell open at that. He didn't know how to react to that. How did you react to a kid you basically watched grow up tell you they wanted you to do bad things to them? He had no idea. He didn't even know where to start with processing that. Not to mention the fledgling scent which made everyone in the flock just naturally gravitate towards the newly winged avians. It had started to get better now that Connor was losing his down, but now they had two fledglings and it was just a bit ridiculous.

In his mind Altair saw a few options. The main one though was the most appealing. He just /did not/ want to deal with this right now, with Desmond looking at him like everything was normal. "I'll see you later. Clean your feathers for tomorrow," and then he slid off the bed and headed for the door, his wings tucked around him protectively.

"Shit- Alty, I didn't-" He sucked in his bottom lip, watching Altair retreat. With his wings up like that... Desmond had never seen him, or thought he could, look so insecure. "I'm sorry," he finally said, looking down at his hands, where he was worrying the loose feathers with his fingers.  
"It was out of line. I thought-" He shook his head a little. He wasn't thinking, that was the problem. "I'll... yeah. I'll see you later."

Desmond resumed the task of cleaning the loose feathers, even though he wanted Altair to stay. He kind of hated that he'd imprinted on him too, because he wanted to talk to him about it, wanted his company because that was just how that worked. And yeah, he was beating himself up over making it awkward, for even thinking it was a good idea to reveal that. He could've at least made it softer to approach, but outright saying that, it was like getting hit in the face with a load of bricks. He didn't think he could even bring himself to talk to Connor about it.


	5. Horse Pills

Ed's room never smelled like him. Avians were constantly in and out of the room and Ed was rarely in it. Instead Ed's room sort of smelled like the flock, which smelled safe. Ed wasn't in his room yet, but Rauf and Yusuf were, Rauf on his back on the floor while Yusuf ran his fingers through the underside of his matte gray feathers. Altair was the second one to arrive after dinner.

"I don't know why you two bother to come," Altair was only slightly serious. The two shared a room and their wings were always immaculate, meaning they groomed each other. They had no reason to come since there was never anything to clean.

"Because its fun of course," Rauf said and moved his wing to sort of point at Altair, "And because we like to bother you," he laughed.

"Trust me, you do that already as it is," Altair huffed and say on Ed's big bed.

Desmond hoped he didn’t show up too late. He had mixed feelings about the entire thing. It wasn’t that he had been trying to seclude himself from the flock during the day, but he was avoiding Altair somewhat. Connor hadn’t even seen much of him, and they shared a bathroom.

He pushed open the door to Edward’s room, and Connor came in quite soon after. Most of his young feathers were already replaced with flight-ready feathers, ranging from solid, neutral colors to banded cream and brown. Feathers enough for him to catch a bit of wind, but not enough to actually sustain a good glide.

Yusuf looked up once the newest member of the flock entered, offering Desmond a warm smile. “Don’t be so nervous, there’s no feather pulling here.” He resumed his work with Rauf’s feathers, although there was really nothing more to do with them. Still, preening him was something Yusuf greatly enjoyed, and flock preening was also a social gathering he would be loathe to miss. He could do without the nervous unease that Desmond brought with him.

Altair watched Desmond entered and his wings pissed themselves close to his back without his consent. He was still thinking about what Desmond had said and he sort of felt uncomfortable even looking at him. At least he could distract himself with the others, since he wasn't alone in a room with the fledgling.

"Ed does remember its tonight right?" Altair asked since Edward was the one who most often forgot flock grooming and more than once had walked into his full room and cursed so much Altair was sure he was going to catch on fire. Haytham said his 'aging father's memory was going' but you were risking your life saying that to his face.

Malik and Ezio showed up, somehow peaceable. Malik took up a space behind Altair as he usually did. It took him twice the time to preen another, and taking care of his own wing was awkward enough. “You are not usually so obvious,” he said, preferring Arabic even though it was meant to be social. “Talk to me.”  
Ezio appraised Desmond, picking at his wings. “We’re going to make a mess of Ed’s room for weeks still,” he sighed, despite a smile. They all had to stay back and clean up the mess of downy feathers - rather, Haytham demanded they all pitch in, since they all, at one point, ended up preening Connor and contributing to the mess. “And I was hoping we were nearing the end of that.”

Desmond puffed out his cheeks, feathers ruffling. “What, should I apologize?”

“Not if you do most of the cleaning, fratello.” Ezio tousled Desmond’s hair, and broke his awkward stance by offering to be the first for him to preen. Soon, Connor came to sit beside Desmond, coaxing out one of his wings to clean in turn. Usually, he waited for his father, and started with his, or helped with Ed’s cormorant wings.

"So obvious what?" Altair asked in Arabic, surrendering one of his wings over to Malik. He knew Malik knew right where Aussie couldn't reach himself and always tended to that area first. Altair would get to Malik's wings once his were done since Malik's one wing was on the other side of his body and Altair couldn't reach very well.

Rauf got up from his back and wiggled over to Desmond though not too close. Only so many people could groom someone at once without it becoming cluttered. "We'll have to start you on exercises to help build up your wing muscles," he grinned at Desmond.

“You’re uncomfortable, not even looking at Desmond. He won’t look at you either.” Well, he did, but when he glanced at Altair, he pretty much immediately looked away. Malik pressed the feathers back into place, and moved his wings so he could get to the feathers between the limb and his back. 

Desmond glanced at Rauf. “I just get feathers everywhere...” He already had a handful of feathers that Connor was pushing into his lap. He folded up one wing when Connor moved to the other. Desmond, on the other hand, was still working on the same wing, a lot slower at preening Ezio.

Altair felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar at Malik's words. "Uh..." he said awkwardly.

"You'd be surprised," Rauf told Desmond, "Your feathers are coming out a lot because they're new. They'll be okay for exercises," mainly just Desmond wasn't getting out of exercising his wings.

Clearly Malik was waiting for Altair to say something. He had that knowing look on his gave. "He said something very... Troubling, to me," Altair said as the door opened and Haytham came in

“Alright, alright. I’ll do your exercises, Rauf.” Desmond moved on to the next wing, glad that Ezio wasn’t finding his process painful. He was beginning to relax, mind numbing a bit as he continued to preen the wings before him. It was a repetitive task, and the smell of the flock lulled him.

Connor looked up at Haytham, pausing in his work. His wings lifted somewhat, and he turned his attention back to Desmond.

Malik tutted, moving on to the hard to reach parts of Altair’s other wing. “Is that all you have to say? Um?” Altair was often short-worded, but never quite so wordless. He pulled a loose feather and reached over his shoulder to all but stuff it into his nose. “Something troubling. Ah. I can do worlds of help with that description.”

He put the borrowed feather down, sitting back once more. Malik wouldn’t really force Altair to tell him, but there really was nothing he could do without detail. “It must have been really bad to warrant this kind of avoidance.” Malik was more concerned about whether they’d find a way past whatever difference they had. After all, Desmond had imprinted on Altair, and he couldn’t imagine the stress of being unable to go to Altair if they couldn’t figure it out. Altair was pretty notorious for holding grudges, and that worried Malik.

“If you can’t tell me, I only hope you can figure this out. It will be pretty rough on the both of you.”

Altair sighed, "It wasn't anything... Bad," he guessed, "Not like how I'm sure you're thinking. It was more... I don't know," he sighed, his wings drooping a little. "He told me he wanted to have a more... Intimate relationship," which was about as nice as he could put it. "I know he imprinted but... That doesn't mean that." 

Unlike what bad supernatural stories would have you believe imprinting wasn't 'oh we're soul mates' sort of thing. It was more like when baby birds saw their mother for the first time, they tended to follow them around everywhere and just wanted to be around. It happened to avians when their wings came out and since usually another avian was the first thing they saw it was more of a survival mechanism so new avians could learn things they needed to know. Bill had wanted Desmond to imprint on him but Altair had been there instead.

Rauf grinned, "You don't get a choice in it kid. You've got training and supplements now, so your bones can keep up with the growth of you're wings."

Haytham looked down at his son before nudging him with his wing. Haytham didn't sit on the floor anymore. He was too old for that. He wanted Connor to get up

“Do you think you have babied him too much?” Malik had finished now, smoothing the last feathers back into place. He moved and spread his remaining wing, leaving space enough on the bed for Haytham and inexplicably, Connor as well.

Connor pushed himself to his feet. “Where is... Grandfather?” He let the feathers still in his hands fall. “Has he forgotten again?”

Yusuf pulled Desmond away from Ezio, and the kid looked up at him, confused and kind of covered in his own feathers once they were disturbed from his lap. He’d been keeping them well contained too... “What-?”

“You’re too slow.” Yusuf was smiling anyway. “It isn’t like you are tending a wound, our wings are sturdy enough.” He took Desmond’s place, preening Ezio with nimble, practiced fingers. Before him, Ezio seemed to laugh at a quiet joke. “Ah, don’t worry, you were doing fine, Desmond.”

Desmond blinked, mouth hanging open somewhat. It was also the first time he’d seen Yusuf’s wings completely, and they really were a sight. “-Oh.” He ran a hand through his hair sheepishly, shoulders and wings raised while he looked at Rauf. “You mean those nasty, giant pills?” He grimaced. “They were really disgusting.

“What kind of training, exactly?” He asked, gaze flicking over to Altair and Malik. He just knew they were talking about him, and didn’t like that he got the gist of their conversation without understanding a lick of Arabic. A small part of him supplied the amount of time he used to spend in the archive with the artifacts. Desmond forced his thoughts back to Rauf, hurriedly refocusing.

"He said he thought about me fucking him," Altair told Malik bluntly. "I don't know where babying comes into that train of thought," he started running his hands through Malik's feathers. Malik sometimes had a hard time keeping his one wing clean by himself. Altair knew how to do it though.

"He's meeting with Bill actually," Haytham told Connor as they sat a bit away from Altair and Malik on the bed. "And cursing him as best he can."

"Yes the big nasty ones," Rauf laughed. "They're full of calcium and vitamins and stuff to keep you healthy while you're wings grow in. You better be taking them. Or you'll end up with weak bones and shrink.

Malik twitched somewhat. “Sex? Not surprising.” They had fooled around in the past, he wasn’t exactly amazed. A lot of the flock seemed to have homosexual tendencies at least. He thought it was just a part of the reason why avians were so rare. After all, men didn’t give birth, and female avians hadn’t been documented in years. “You were always around for him, though. Growing up, learning about his own sexuality, growing wings in the middle of it all.” He shook his head. “He might just grow out of it, but it is something the two of you cannot avoid.” Reaching back, he patted Altair’s knee.

Connor sat cross legged behind Haytham, preening his father’s wings. “Oh.” He was silent for a while. “Desmond’s alright though, no harm done... really.” He paid no mind to the quiet conversation next to them. Connor thought that it was a nice language to listen to, but he had less interest in learning Arabic. He was more keen on learning the Mohawk language from Ziio, or trying to figure out how he had understood the birds when he was younger. Never would Connor admit to the second, though, but Haytham had told him enough stories about how he used to tell him about the birds near the compound.

“I took them, yeah. No one told me they would taste that gross. I’d rather do circuit exercises than take more of them,” Desmond muttered, crossing his arms. After a few moments, though, he began working on his own wings, caring for what he could reach.

“How come Yusuf’s feathers are so bright?” He asked suddenly. Even he was trying to keep his mind off of Altair and Malik’s conversation.

"That's just it," Altair grumbled. "I've been around him since like forever. I don't think I could think of him like that," honestly he didn't want to think about that at all. He didn't know what to do with Desmond now since he knew that. 

Rauf grinned, "You aren't supposed to eat them idiot, just swallow them." Rauf looked at Yusuf and his kingfisher wings, "Cause I take good care of them," Rauf said and made a face at Yusuf. They both knew that without an extra set of hands Yusuf's gleaming wings would always be dirty from rough housing with Ezio.

“I did swallow them! I know how to take pills,” Desmond grumbled indignantly. They still tasted disgusting. He scowled down at the wing half folded in his lap, unamused. A sigh had his expression relax, but it was an effort to keep his eyes down.

Malik withdrew his hand. There wasn’t much more he could offer. “He’ll understand you don’t think of him that way, and he does understand that it isn’t because of imprinting.” He did not like seeing Altair this troubled. Altair wasn’t the type to be troubled, much less let things get so deeply to him that they began to take root. “Do not make the mistake of ignoring it, it isn’t like a broken finger.”

Altair looked over at Desmond when he made an out burst and blinked then his brain caught up with what his ears had really just heard. Oh, good. Christ he was obviously thinking about it and it was uncomfortable as hell! "Its just been one day, Malik," Altair said. Barely one day really.

Rauf laughed at him again, "Then why can you taste them?" He asked, "You must be bad at swallowing."

Next to Malik Altair _really_ wished they would stop talking about Desmond swallowing Christ he was going to need to leave.

Desmond glared at Rauf. “No one said they were that big! I swear those things were... for a horse or something.”

“Knowing you, Altair, you’d decide it wasn’t worth the effort to fix.” Malik cast a sideways glance over his shoulder. It was really riling him up bad, especially since Rauf turned their conversation toward Desmond’s ability, or inability to swallow pills. “You have the worst imagination,” he muttered, more to himself than his friend.

Yusuf was probably the only one of the group that was enjoying the tension. Anything that ruffled Altair’s feathers was amusement enough for him. Maybe he did feel a little bad, after all, it looked like it was really getting to him, whatever it was. He’d weasel it out of Rauf later if he had to.

"They are," and Rauf said it in such a way it was hard to tell if he was kidding or not. All he cared about was that he didn't have to take them anymore. He'd done his time, no more supplements for him.

"I am capable thanks," Altair grumbled at Malik. Then he turned his glare on Malik, "You're the one making me think about it," he hissed.

“What? No way, Rauf, really?” Desmond stared at him, shifting uncomfortably where he sat. “I mean, isn’t that dangerous... or something?”

Malik snorted. “Oh? I suppose I am, but that was beyond...” He shook his head. “Things only scare you when they’re true.” He turned and prodded him, index finger jammed against his chest. “I’m not saying you’re a dirty bastard, but I’m saying you’re a really dirty bastard.” He waved Altair off with his hand.

“Shoo, then. You’ve become more awkward than the fledglings.” It was Malik’s way of saying Altair could excuse himself for the sake of his pride.

Altair actually growled at Malik. "You're the one thinking about me doing it," but he did get up because fuck this guy. Not literally. But just... Fuck that guy. "So I assume Ed isn't coming?" Altair asked Haytham.

"If he can get away," Haytham said. He had amassed a large collection of Connor's down feathers in his lap, carefully picking at Connor's wings to reveal the brown flight feathers. "He's dealing with humans." Altair grimaced, yeah that kinda sucked.

Rauf had to cover his mouth, "Desmond. How are you not dead yet? You've got to be the most gullible person I've ever met. And Ezio is pretty damn gullible. Not even _he_ believed me when I said they were house supplements."

Connor looked up when Altair suddenly switched back to English, and glanced at Desmond. He’d gotten Desmond to believe that the cafeteria pasta had earthworms in it, and wasn’t that surprised when he believed Rauf about the pills. It didn’t stop him from smirking down at his lap.

Malik had no response for Altair other than a shrug localized in his shoulders and wing. He moved himself to the edge of the bed, shaking out the feathered limb before folding it back up and making his own exit.

“That’s... so not fair, Rauf. You did the whole serious thing, that’s not fair.” Desmond just knew Yusuf and Ezio were both laughing about it, and he saw Connor’s self contained snickering. Despite himself, he looked to Altair, though he had no way of knowing whether or not he was laughing at it either. He was pretty embarrassed by it, even more so when he couldn’t stop his wings from rising around him. 

It was like he forgot how to deal with them when he really needed to, and whatever chance he had of playing it off was just multiplying the issue. At least Desmond kept his feathers down, but he basically buried himself in the task of preening himself after that.

"Ah don't feel so bad kid," Rauf patted his knee, "Ezio fell for one just as bad."

"Did you need something Altair?" Haytham asked.

Affair frowned at Haytham and Connor a second, "No," he said, since Haytham didn't like being bothered when he had his hands on Connor's wings. "I'll see you at breakfast," he sighed and turned to the others, he hasn't been listening to their conversation and wondered why Desmond looked so embarrassed. If Rauf's face was any indication Altair bet it had something to do with him.

"Lay off Rauf," was all Altair said, "Kid's had his wings less than a week, no need to traumatize him."

"I wasn't," Rauf cried.

"Yeah yeah, just be nice," Altair waved him off and headed for the door.

If his face was a little pink when Altair rather offhandedly defended him in the way Altair usually did - without much feeling - it got pretty damn red when Desmond realized he didn’t really feel like staying there when Altair wasn’t. He did, though. Or rather, forced himself to sit there. “It’s fine, yeah. It was pretty stupid of me anyway.”

He stopped going through the motions of preening to fiddle with the feathers in his lap, and gather others that had escaped his wings. “How much of this do I have to clean up?” Desmond asked after a while, when he felt like things were winding down to a close. 

Yusuf wasn’t preening Ezio so much as he was just petting his feathers. At some point, the Italian must have gone over Yusuf’s wings, because he had a brilliant blue feather tucked into his belt. Desmond assumed it was for his sick kid brother, who was always trying to get his hands on all of the feathers he could while astutely refusing to tell anyone why he needed all of those feathers.

“Whatever is around you,” Ezio offered, looking up with a warm smile. “And don’t take Rauf so seriously. His jokes are already unfunny.” The comment earned him an elbow from Yusuf, but the Turk was grinning too.

For what it was worth, Desmond felt a little better, but now he had an armful of feathers and no idea what to do with them.

"My jokes are hilarious," Rauf protested. "You're the one with the sense of humor of a rock."

“All that was funny which you learned came from me,” Yusuf declared.

It was the last bit of the exchange that Desmond heard before slinking out with his unwilling collection of feathers. He figured he’d just get rid of them in his own room along with the rest of them. They kind of stuck to his arms, but he got them into the fussy bag, which was getting pretty full. He’d have to dump it soon, he supposed while retreating to his bed.

He hoped his father wasn’t being too much of a hassle to deal with. They said he’d have to wait until he had his down feathers before seeing him, but Desmond ultimately decided he didn’t want to see him. To drive that home, he slunk off to brood elsewhere.

Desmond wanted to go seek out Altair, but the wish not to confront him again was stronger than the wish for his company. He stared at the door, knowing it would be dark soon, but also that he did not really want to be alone. Going to the archive was an alternative, even though it wasn’t company, exactly... He flopped onto his side, growling.

It had only been a day. Of course it would be all tender and awkward. Didn’t mean it made him feel any better.


	6. Survival Instinct

When Altair woke up the next day he knew what he had to do. He'd been thinking about it all last night and he was being a coward about it and if there was one thing Altair was not, it was a coward. And yeah he knew as who Desmond had imprinted on he had responsibility to watch out for him and help him. He was failing that bit and Altair wasn't keen on failing _anything_. 

So after getting dressed he went down the hall to Desmond's room and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again, harder, and then tried to the knob when there was still no answer. The door opened and he looked in. The room was empty. Altair went in and checked the bathroom, also empty. He stole a look into Connor's room too, but it was just Connor still asleep. That was odd, if not with Connor who was he with?

Altair went and checked with all the others but they hadn't seen him since last night. At least the doors that opened for him to ask said that. Altair still wasn't worried though. He was around somewhere, Altair was sure of it. He checked the cafeteria, even though it was still too early to be serving breakfast.

He knocked on Ed's door again, this time the man answered. "Ed, I can't find Desmond," he said.

"what?" Ed was half asleep still. Altair repeated himself. "You look everywhere?"

Altair was in the process of nodding when he realized, no, he hadn't. "Well... No. But, I need a key to get in it," Ed left the doorway and a moment later a keyring was thrown at him. He caught it and it stung since the ring was literally filled with keys. He frowned as the door closed. Then he looked down at the keyring and low and behold there was the toothless key you needed to get into the archive.

Desmond hadn’t meant to fall asleep there, really just close his eyes and listen to the soft not-voices. He found himself half curled up on his side in the sealed room, really roused by what sounded like singing to him rather than the floor, which really was rather uncomfortable.

He pushed himself to sit up, eyes half closed as he opened his mouth to answer back for the first time. Christ, they really were lonely, wailing things. Desmond almost felt as if they had missed him in some strange way, as if a flower could miss the sun. His wings were low, half spread behind him.

The urge to sing was weird and overwhelming, and the words that came to his lips weren’t ones he recognized aside from disembodied memories - maybe it was the objects remembering him. Desmond didn’t strain to figure it out, and just let it happen. What was the worst it could do?

Altair had only ever been to the archive with Ed. Those times happened very rarely, usually because he couldn't get Haytham to come with him since Ed _did not_ like the archive at all. So Altair had been here only a handful of times.

He fit the toothless key, which itself was one of the artifacts they apparently used to keep in here, into the slot. As he did he heard the oddest thing he thought he'd ever hear coming from the archive: singing. He turned the key. The key clicked the lock unlocked and he pushed the door open.

Desmond was sitting against the wall of the archive, wings like a feather coat, singing. it was by far one of the strangest things Altair had ever witnessed. Because he was just singing quietly to himself in no language Altair even heard.

He kept going, pausing only to breathe at intervals that were few and far between. When Desmond did stop, it was abrupt, and he whirled to look at Altair, eyes wide and bathed in gold. The door slammed itself shut, and he still didn’t move. It wasn’t until recognition flashed across his face that he seemed to rouse, shaking himself and getting to his feet.

“Uh.” Oh. Very eloquent, Desmond. The Eagle Vision was slow to fade, but as it did, he appeared to remember that he had actual eyelids to blink with, not just the slightly opaque membrane. “How did- oh. Yeah, key. Right.” Within seconds he was back to awkward, fluttery mess, running a hand through his hair to the back of his neck. “How much of that were you here for?”

"Enough," Altair said "what were you doing in here?" he asked as he moved into the room. He didn't come here very often and just looking around he couldn't understand why Desmond would sleep here, of all places.

Desmond shrugged, more with his wings than with his shoulders. “Sleeping. And singing, apparently. I don’t know, didn’t want to bother you or anything.” Although it looked like he ended up bothering Altair plenty. “I didn’t exactly plan on doing that in here, if that’s what you mean.”

He felt himself getting defensive, and couldn’t help it. Yeah, it was pretty weird, and he was already weird enough himself, he didn’t really need it to get any worse. This was why he stopped coming in here.

"Don't like your bed?" honestly he was just curious..since Desmond's bed was just as comfortable as his own. He looked at the artifacts and remembered what Desmond had told him and the Kenways. "What were they saying?"

“Nothing. I don’t know what they say.” If he had to guess, it was more like feeling things. He wasn’t in the mood to even attempt explaining what he thought he knew. Desmond’s defensive stance deflated along with his sigh. “My bed’s fine. I just told you, I didn’t want to bother you last night, and I guess I wanted some company.”

Desmond looked Altair over. He wasn’t angry, but he still felt like he’d gone and done something dumb again. Pushing the feeling aside, he moved toward the door, tracing the otherwise inconspicuous lock with his thumb. “Forget about them.” He nodded his head back toward the artifacts.

"If you wanted to talk to me you could have," Altair said, cause he was adult enough to not be super weird. Like now, he didn't have any trouble talking to Desmond now. "And what about Connor?" since they got along.

What about Connor? Desmond had no idea. He hadn’t really thought too hard about it. “I dunno,” he muttered, “maybe I didn’t exactly want to tell him? I just know he’d ask about it.” 

Turning away from the door, his attention returned to Altair. So did a lot of things that Desmond didn’t really want to think about. “Are we... gonna go or just talk this all out in here?”

"Do you want to?" Altair asked and folded his arms over his chest, raising his brows. His wings were relaxed behind him. If Desmond didn't want to bring it up he'd just write out off as one of the many dumb things that came out of Desmond's mouth. Yeah he'd been surprised by it and needed a day to think it overt, bit it didn't really change much.

“Why not? I kind of just want to work it out sooner rather than later. And besides,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish half smile, “I’m pretty sure you and Malik were talking about it the entire time while preening yesterday.” Desmond moved back into the room, still keeping an awkward distance from Altair, but he was trying.

Altair cocked his head at Desmond, "We might have been," Altair said. "I don't think our conversation was any concern of yours," because it wasn't. He was allowed to talk to his best friend about anything without anyone prying in that conversation. "So did you want to tell me something?"

He flinched a little, not having meant to sound like he was prying. “I understand that it wasn’t really the best way, or time, I guess, to tell you something that big. I just... I want you to know that I’m sorry, Alty.” Desmond’s wings folded up around him somewhat. “I shoulda’ thought about how you probably felt about me first. I mean, I’ll always just be Des, right? Little, annoying kid brother.”

Altair didn't say anything, he just stood there, looking at Desmond, waiting and looking unimpressed. He was waiting and either Desmond would start running his mouth or start to figit. Altair didn't have to wait very long for Desmond to look down and his wings to move nervously, a bunch of the fluffy feathers standing on end.

That's when Altair grinned and unfolded his arms. "Yeah, you're still my annoying Desmond," he ruffled Desmond's hair. "Now let's go get breakfast before Rauf wakes up and makes you train," and he left the archive. . 

Desmond had opened his mouth, but let it close without saying anything when Altair mussed his short hair. He felt a little cheated, but that really could have been the extent of Altair’s feelings.

The inward groan at the mention of Rauf and training was almost reflex. He followed Altair from the archive, really not feeling any better about it, though any time he got to spend somewhat normally with him was time that Desmond was not keen to miss.

Training with Rauf was, even for the first day, a lot of work. Desmond was determined not to complain, but the paces Rauf put him through were a lot more trying than the previous experience he’d had. It made sense, though. Rauf was training him as an avian to be an avian. Before, all of his training was for humans, and it had been a lot easier in comparison, as it was not tailored. And it was outside! It excited Desmond in the most childish manner, which he hid when Connor commented on it.

He showed up at Altair’s door once he’d shoveled dinner into his mouth, still covered in the results of his training, feathers somewhat skewed.

It was a really bad habit that Altair had he'd picked up from some kids back before he'd gotten his wings. Smoking was about the worst habit an avian could have, especially with a wing spam like Altair's, since your lungs and heart were literally your must precious possessions. But Altair had a smoking habit like he had a habit of having sex with minors, which was to say; not at all. But sometimes he just needed one. Like now.

Today had been better than yesterday. So Altair was rewarding himself with a cigarette. He was halfway done with it when someone knocked. Dammit. He didn't like the others to know he smoked still. Ed had chewed his ass out thoroughly for it when he'd been younger so he did it out of sight when he did. He contemplated not opening the door.

When the knock cane again he sighed, set the cigarette in the ashtray and went to get the door. The smell of sweat and work hit his nose like a hammer and he blinked from how strong it was and where it came from, which was Desmond, standing at his door. 

“Ew, you still smoke?” Desmond remembered asking Altair once, quite a while ago, what the dust in the tray was from. He never pursued it further than that, and he never found it really bothered him, and it certainly wasn’t why he showed up.

“Whatever. So. Uh, training is actually pretty awesome, but it’s totally unfair because Connor is doing all the flying stuff, and all I’ve got are these super fluffy useless things.” His wings rose behind him, gesturing almost as much as he usually used his hands.

Desmond had this enjoyable little smile on his face as he managed his way into Altair’s room without expressly asking for it. “I can’t believe I forgot how big the sky is,” he finally said, voice quiet as he invited himself to sit on Altair’s floor. 

He was trying not to think about that morning.

Altair's head turned as Desmond walked into his room, privately wondering when he became the guy people just walked in on uninvited. Looking at Desmond though he didn't have the heart to kick him out. And he hadn't set his dirty self on Altair's bed so he could live.

He went back to his chair and picked up his cigarette again. The window was open and it was his room, he could smoke if he fucking wanted to. "Flying training happens when your wings come in," Altair said, taking a drag, "And it isn't as easy as it looks," he blew out smoke.

Desmond made a face at him. “I know that, I don’t have flight feathers, it’s all just muscle exercises.” With muscles he had no idea he even had, and had literally just grown over the past year or so, long before the wings even began to show.

He looked down at himself, grimacing a little. “I guess I should’ve showered before dropping by.” Desmond lapsed into a brief silence, watching Altair smoke.

“... Earlier... today, you asked me what the artifacts were saying.” He looked away from him, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “It wasn’t really like understanding words, but they remembered me, it was kind of like... I don’t know, similar to how it felt when I woke up and everyone else in the flock was here.” He’d thought about it all day and decided... it felt like that, like coming home, and they were ready to resume. Whatever it was that they were doing. “Like it was about time someone paid them some attention.”

Altair snorted, “Well Ed doesn’t like people going in there,” he said, ”makes a lot of people uneasy, especially the humans. They think we’d use the artifact against them. I know some of them think they should be used to defend against _us_ ,” he sneered, clearly showing what he thought about those people. “So Ed just makes it off limits to everyone, avian and human alike, so people won’t bitch. Clearly though we couldn’t keep you out if we tried,” though till the other day they were under the assumption that unless you had the key you couldn’t get in. Altair took another drag of his cigarette and tapped it into the ashtray boredly.

Desmond made no response. It was no secret that he disliked the humans about as much, or even more than the humans disliked them. He pushed himself to his feet, wings rustling. 

“If Ed doesn’t want me to go in there, he’s probably going to have to tell me himself.” He regarded Altair with a slight frown. “Does it bother you? That I can get in there?”

“Not really,” Altair shrugged and blew smoke, “Not my department honestly. The Kenways deal with the politics between humans and avians and make sure the ones that pop up outside the compound aren’t fucked over by the human majority. They just keep be around to look pretty and hit shit,” he grinned.

“I guess you are kinda pretty.” Desmond stretched, rocking up on his toes. “I’ll... yeah, I’m gonna go shower now. Sorry for freaking you out this morning.” His wings resituated behind him and he made for the door. “Next time I’m missing though, I’m probably there. You don’t have to worry about me all the time.”

He tried to smile without it looking like it was a chore. He still had no idea how he was going to deal with the partial rejection and make sure he was doing what he could so things wouldn’t get even more awkward between the both of them.

“Good to know, I’ll look there first next time,” Altair said and finished his cigarette. he stamped it out in the ashtray and didn’t light another one. He only smoked now and then and only one. He knew they were terrible for him, especially his lungs, so he limited it to one, it also helped him not get addicted. “And I don’t, you’re an adult” Altair said, “But Ed said to keep eye on you, especially cause you imprinted. So I am,” he shrugged a little. It wasn’t a big deal honestly and Altair was still trying to forget what Desmond had said. Mostly it had worked, it was surprisingly easy to just act like it hadn’t happened, though he’d needed yesterday to get his shit together and his head screwed on right.

He had stopped with his hand on the door, wings twitching. “If... someone imprinted on someone they had... previous feelings for, would that make them stronger?” Desmond asked slowly, although it was painfully obvious who someone one and someone two were. “They didn’t really explain that to me, it’s what happened when I woke up right?”

Desmond realized he had no idea, really. If it was just that, maybe it would go away when his flight feathers came in. At least, he was trying to believe it could be traced to something as simple as that, and he could go back to keeping it to himself. Even so, he was shaking his head. He kind of didn’t even want to know, as if knowing would invalidate the whole problem, which he finally saw as how to make Altair stop thinking of him as the helpless little kid brother and, at the very least, more of an adult.

Altair could say he didn’t worry, but Desmond was pretty sure he thought of him in pretty much the same manner as when he was younger. Or that was what he said before.

“It would I guess,” Altair shrugged, “Kinda hard to tell. I know it did for Rauf and Yusuf. Rauf was the one who took Yusuf to med when his wings came in and was there when he came out. It’s more like,” he thought a minute. 

It was hard to explain imprinting sometimes, especially since people already had a preconceived notion of what it really was. Too many shitty fantasy and supernatural stories had turned imprinting into something that was borderline disgusting, especially to avians who actually did imprint. Humans thought it was some great thing that would make you closer to someone or even feel like they were soul mates or some other stupid romantic bullshit that wasn’t real.

“Kinda like mother duck syndrome in a way. First thing you see after your wings pop out is like your ‘mother’ and they’re usually supposed to help you learn how to be avian. Like how to clean your wings, help you build up your muscles, make sure you eat right, and if possible teach you how to fly, or glide depending on your wingspan. It’s survival instinct to stay close to them, which is why I was the one who’s supposed to watch out for you. Or worry about you, whatever it is,” he waved his hand. Imprinting wasn’t a big deal honestly. He’d imprinted on Haytham and had followed him around like a puppy for three days before being reprimanded for being too clingy. Altair honestly did his best not to be imprinted on. Was just kinda annoying at times. Like now honestly.

He frowned. “At least I know it’s not something completely weird,” Desmond muttered. “Well, I can’t blame it on that.” All in all, he wasn’t too happy about it, and wanted to press the subject. Speaking his mind, though, was what started it, and he wasn’t very keen on talking as openly anymore. Besides, he could deal with it just as well on his own.

Desmond looked back at him, chewing on his lip. He didn’t bother to say much of a goodbye, hoping that a half-assed excuse for a wave would work before he slipped out and went off to shower. Shower and probably brood until falling asleep, but definitely shower.


	7. Problem Solved?

Between Rauf’s training and trying to ignore the irritating need - instinct - to be somewhere near Altair, Desmond was becoming exhausted and a little more than snippy. Honestly, only a few days into it, he realized it probably wasn’t the best plan, especially since it revolved around ignoring a survival instinct, but it was all he had to work with. 

The worst thing was, he began to worry about when Altair would call him out on it, and tell him it was another stupid thing. To avoid it, he ended up only interacting with Altair when he had to. Meals that happened to be at the same time, preening - although the last one ended badly with Desmond all but slinking off to his room. He even kept out of the archive for the most part.

He had come to the realization that doing all of this probably only made him appear even more childish, and when he had, he ended up ignoring the fact. At least he had the tenacity to follow through with his plans. Not that it was the most intelligent choice.

Desmond didn’t really feel any pride even when he tried. A week of the act had him trying to sneak into the archive which faced him with the (colossally mental) problem of Altair knowing and finding him there. That and walking past his door. That also really sucked.

Altair’s ears pricked whenever someone walked by his door. He was sensitive to that stuff and knew the walks of most of the people in the compound if he could help it and was keenly attuned to the avian ones especially. They tended to walk lighter than humans, lighter skeletons and all. The avian walking by his room was Desmond and he looked at the door when the footsteps stopped for a moment.

In the past week Desmond had been weird. Altair just let him be mostly though. As he’d told Desmond he was an adult, and Altair would treat him like one. He wasn’t Desmond’s nanny or his baby sitter he just made sure Desmond was okay mainly. But as said, Desmond was acting weird, meaning he wasn’t okay. Meaning it was _his_ problem to deal with.

With a sigh Altair got up out of his chair and went to the door. He got a surprised looking Desmond when he opened the door. Clearly the new avian hadn’t been expecting Altair to hear him, most humans didn’t. Altair also was obviously opening the door to see Desmond since he didn’t leave the doorway. “Hey,” he said, frowning a little.

He managed to control the surprised flinch a little more than usual. Desmond froze up a little while trying to figure out what to think, much less say. “Don’t... freak me out like that.”

Desmond lost the nerve to just leave. “If I stay and talk, you won’t call me stupid, because I already know.” He needed to talk, and admitted to himself that it was specifically their relationship that he needed to talk about, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to just sit and take it if it ended up just being about the manner he went about trying to fix it.

His wings were folded tight up against his back, nervous and insecure.

“I wasn’t going to call you stupid,” Altair said mildly and leaned against his door, “I can if it’ll make you feel better,” he smirked a little. “I’m just checking in. Haytham noticed you were acting funny and told me to deal with it. So I am. How you doing? Training all right? Need me to tell Rauf to ease up on it?” really he was just there to help Desmond. He was supposed to do that after all since he was the one Desmond had imprinted on.

So Haytham had to tell him. “That’s funny.” Desmond cast a short lived glare at Altair’s door. “I’m fine, just trying to not, you know, be a big ass fucking bother to you. Or anyone else, really.” The last bit was tacked on.

“Stop it, you sound like you’re reading a script or something.” Altair was probably the worst person he could have imprinted on, not only because of his confused sexual desires concerning him, but the fact that Altair just wasn’t really good at the whole ‘imprintee’ deal.

Altair frowned, mostly in confusion. "Well you're not a bother if you're worried," Altair said, "But you are my responsibility and I'm doing what I'm supposed to do, which is check up on you. So I am. Are you doing okay?" It wasn't like he was blind to Desmond's weirdness. "I'd hoped that if there was something you'd come to me about it. But you haven't so I'm making sure."

He straightened a bit since he didn't appreciate Desmond treating him like a robot. He was doing the best he could dammit and with little help on Desmond's part. "I'm not stupid Desmond, I'm just doing the best I can. I can't do that if you're avoiding me or being unnecessarily hostile to me."

“I don’t want you to think of me like I’m just a kid, I don’t want to get stuck with you seeing me like that. I wanted you to see me as an adult.” Desmond shifted his weight. “I really don’t want to talk about this here.”

But he really needed to talk about it. Starting made it hard to stop. “It’s still bothering me, I just didn’t want to be annoying.”

"I _am_ treating you like an adult you moron," Altair said. "Or at least I'm trying to. You keep acting like a child though. I shouldn't have to be on your ass all the time to know if you're doing okay. I shouldn't have to coddle you like you're making me. I _expected_ you to be an adult and come to me if you needed me," Altair's wings were half flared. He wasn't going to be disrespected by a brat.

"Instead you're sulking around and Haytham shouldn't have to tell me to check in on you. You need to be talking to _us_ and especially me. Instead you're acting like a self centered brat," it was true. Haytham had never coddled him, he didn't have the time or the patience. So Altair had always been vocal with what he needed, what he was confused about. He knew it was the same for the rest of the flock. They fell apart if they didn't communicate. "If you don't want to talk to me I don't care. But at least talk to someone about what crawled up your ass and died. The flock is a unit, a family, and we expect you to act like it."

Altair hadn’t exactly wanted Haytham doing things to him like Desmond wanted Altair to. Desmond scowled. “Let me in, then. I’m not talking about this in the hallway.” He hated it when Altair said family. In fact, he didn’t like the way Altair said a lot of things, it was pretty much everything he didn’t want him to say. “It has nothing to do with the rest of the flock. Just you and me, and I do want to talk to you.”

Desmond’s feathers were as flat as they had ever been. He wasn’t about to go and cry about the asshole who was the object of his affections to Connor. He’d considered it a couple of times, and each time decided it was something he had to figure out between himself and Altair.

"Not so hard is it?" Altair asked and checked his wings so they weren't so threatening and large behind him. He also needed to pull them in to fit back through the door. He moved out of the way for Desmond to join him and closed it after him.

"If you need to talk to me then you should have just come and _talk to me_. I'm not going to make it weird even if you have a crush. You're the only one making it weird," and really he wasn't. Connor had had a little crush on him when he was younger but then, like now, Altair had been weird one day before getting over it. It wasn't a big deal. Desmond was making this an ordeal by keeping it in. "Whatever you want to talk about, we can talk about," because he was a fucking adult and not afraid of dealing with a horny teenager.

“You pretty much said I’m basically just your kid brother... I know I was really blunt when I told you, I’ve said that already.” Desmond sighed, though it was more of a huffing exhale. “It’s not because I imprinted on you, but it’s really fucking awkward since I did.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not just a crush, and I’m not trying to be awkward about it, I’m- I don’t know how I’m supposed to even begin to fix that first fuck up. I’ve never told anyone, Alty.”  
Desmond found his spot in the middle of Altair’s floor and sat down heavily. He always felt so bad about it too. None of them wore shirts except for Malik, but as the temperature rose, the flock collectively tended to wear less. So he was stuck there, trying not to obviously stare, because Altair was just damn beautiful. He felt incredibly guilty after jacking off to thoughts of him, and even worse running into him afterward. 

“And you’ve never told me how you feel about me.”

Altair sighed. He did want to make this as painless as possible. He crouched down in front of Desmond, using his wings to keep him from falling over, honestly he'd never had better balance since he got them. It was like it was physically impossible for him to fall over.

"So this is basically the long and short of it," honestly he just wanted to get it out of the way. "I know you like me, you blurted it out in possibly the worst way possible but I'm past that, it isn't a big deal." Yeah he didn't just get random declarations of wanting to fuck but he supposed that if it could happen to anyone it _would_ be him. Of course. "Thing is though I don't feel the same way. I don't really have a reason to and you haven't given me a good one to think of you as anything but a kid brother. You want me to treat you like an adult and when I do you act like a child and I can tell you one thing I'm not attracted to is childish behavior." 

“The way you say that makes me feel like I’m never getting anywhere.” Desmond moved himself away from Altair when he crouched down. 

He stared at him for a while, then looked away, fixing somewhere on Altair’s floor. “I don’t want to feel like I have to make you want to have a relationship with me. I want to be closer to you, but it... With how I feel, and knowing that you don’t...” Desmond almost didn’t want to have anything to do with him, but he couldn’t just go ahead and say that. “I don’t know what’s okay to do around you, since it’s clearly too much to ask for a fuck just to get that out of my system. It feels so Goddamn wrong when it’d mean so much to me.”

So that was it, the same kind of thing as when he was a kid. Convincing. He was too tired to even get angry about it.

Altair had a feeling he was about to get a very strange reaction out of Desmond with his next words: "We can fuck if you want." Altair was completely serious with that too.

He and Malik had had a lot of weird, unresolved, sexual tension when they were teenagers. They'd grown up at the same age as avians and it had been weird sometimes. Eventually they just decided to fuck it out because it would make their lives easier without having to deal with the tension. 

For him it wasn't really about the sex. Sex was sex, it happened and felt good. Altair didn't dwell on it too much cause he didn't really need it. He wasn't an idiot though and if Desmond was so hung up on fucking he didn't see why not. Not like the kid was a minor.

Desmond’s stomach twisted, apprehension, relief and unease rolled into one feeling. “I-” He wanted to say that no, that wasn’t all that he wanted, that he wanted to feel good, and he was pretty sure he wanted to make Altair feel just as good. Afraid that he’d lose the offer, he nodded, not quite able to bring his gaze back to Altair’s face.

His jaw tightened, teeth almost grinding. “If that’s what I can get.” The moment he said it, he knew it would come back to bite him later, but a couple hours of forgetting he didn’t colossally fuck up would be worth it.

"Well if you don't want to I won't make you," Altair folded his arms even as he balanced on the his bent legs, still crouched. "I'm honestly just trying to help, and if you want me so bad," he shrugged, his best indication of 'whatever' and that he didn't mind.

“I do. I just... you look at me a hell of a lot, and I think you only really pay that much attention to Malik. It’s confusing... but I can deal with just having a physical relationship.” Desmond thought he could. Hell, he better be able to deal with just that.

He wanted to relax, and in the end just forced himself to. It wasn’t that Altair was ignoring his feelings, he just didn’t feel that way about him. “You do understand that I like _you_. I don’t just want you to fuck me. I mean, that would be really awesome, and it would mean a lot to me, but... Fuck, never mind I,” Desmond covered his eyes, wings coming up behind him, “I shouldn’t be trying to push my luck... But there was that chance, that... that it’s just the fact that I imprinted on you, and I thought that maybe it wasn’t that I actually liked you like that, that it just made me think I loved you.”

When he was little, he thought he’d loved Lucy. They stuck together as kids, held hands, kid romance kinds of things. His wings got between a lot of that, and when he finally saw her again, things definitely weren’t the same, but there wasn’t any real heartache with it. Desmond just wasn’t human. Discovering he preferred guys sexually was an entirely different journey, and ended just as unspectacularly. Nothing had this kind of impact on him. This had gotten into things from how he interacted with people to how he acted, even alone.

He had no real way of conveying that to Altair.

Altair reached out and put his two fingers under Desmond's chin, tilting his head up so he was looking at Altair again. "I know," he said because really what else could he say to Desmond that wouldn't sound insensitive or like a jerk. Then he leaned over and pressed his lips against Desmond's.

He was caught with his mouth half open, and ended up spending more time trying to figure out what to do with his face than actually doing anything. Desmond pressed back, closing his eyes so he could just feel. Altair’s lips were a little dry, not quite chapped, but an appealing texture. Both his feathers and wings rose when he felt the scar with his tongue, head canted to the left.

Desmond pushed himself to his knees, drawn closer by that mouth and those fingers.

At the very least Altair would make sure Desmond enjoyed what they were going to do. Though he was a teenager, anything Altair did would probably feel good. He coaxed Desmond closer with just two fingers under his chin, his wings came up and around them when Desmond got close enough. He licked his way into Desmond's mouth with confidence, he knew what to do in these situations. He knew how to make everything feel good and make side whoever he was with enjoyed it as much as he did.

Desmond did little to deny him, sinking right into the kiss. His wings pressed up against Altair’s, still half folded. There was something about feeling another pair of wings over his own that made him inexplicably calm. He pushed his tongue against the other’s, which was the most foreign thing he’d ever had in his mouth, and couldn’t stop a weirdly shuddering moan from bubbling up in his throat. It was more of a cross between a chirp and low cooing, and definitely not something he was used to having come from his mouth. 

His cheeks were burning. He was used to maybe whistling instead of whining, when his throat got just a little too tight to garner a more human sound, but nothing like a low trill.

He didn’t notice that he couldn’t unfold his wings completely, they were too large to fit within the span of Altair’s, though he could feel the feathers between his shoulderblades lift when he shuddered. It was like the hair at the back of his neck prickling, and both were sensations he rather enjoyed.

Altair eased himself onto his knees, but only so he could draw Desmond closer to him. His wings circled around tighter, more enveloping, casting them both in diffused light coming from the light through the windows and the ceiling light. He pulled Desmond into the space between his knees having to do little to coax him there and pressed one hand against his neck. The other Altair trailed with feather lightness down his chest to around the small of his back.

If nothing else Altair could say Desmond was enthusiastic, if inexperienced. Obviously. Though he sort of did hope he'd done at least /something/ with someone before. Because _uhg_ virgins honestly. Though even of he was Desmond wouldn't be a virgin when Altair was done with him. Oh he was going to get a fucking ear full if Bill ever found out. He found the thought amusing and now hoped he did. Still stuff he needed to know before they got any further.

Altair pulled back and had the satisfaction of seeing Desmond's eyes closed and his cheeks flushed. Altair wiped his thumb across his lips and the wet scar Desmond had seemed intent on kissing. "Before we go any further," he said because this shit was just as important as anything else, "we need to lay some ground rules, and I have a few questions," which were kinda important for him to know before they got to the 'fun part'.

He was a little more than breathless. “What rules?” Desmond seemed vaguely off-put when Altair moved away. His tongue flicked over his lips and he opened his eyes to watch him with a curious, though diffused expression.

"Just what you're okay with, or not," Altair said. "And you need to tell me if you're a virgin or not. Or if you've..." what was the delicate way to ask this? Well Desmond hadn't been delicate with how he'd told Altair he liked him so he could probably be crass. "Fingered yourself," cause well, it was kinda important information , especially for a guy.

He shrugged, reddening for an entirely different reason. “Not really to the first, and... yes to the second.” Desmond’s gaze slid to a point on Altair’s shoulder. Yeah, Bill would definitely murder the both of them, but his callous father was not the first thing he really wanted to come to mind. But honestly, what did Altair think he did when he masturbated. Especially after coming out to him like he had.

“The first question was a yes or no question,” Altair said blandly and nudged Desmond with his wing. But at least it was yes to the second. Altair didn’t really... like virgins. 

“I haven’t been _fucked_. No time for that.” Desmond’s wings pushed against Altair’s in response to being nudged. “Not when they keep tabs on everyone all the time.” It worried him how doggedly Altair was pursuing his sexual history. He hadn’t had much, but he wasn’t exactly solid on the criteria for tipping the scale to non-virginity.

“Do you have _any_ experience?” Altair asked, cause hell, he was an older guy and banged just about every member of the flock other than Haytham, Ed, and Connor pretty much. He was experienced and wanted to get how _in_ experienced Desmond was. “Don’t give me that look I need to know how easy I need to go on you,” he said when Desmond didn’t look happy about being grilled about it. 

Desmond couldn’t help it when he drew back. “If you have to know what I’ve stuffed up my Goddamn ass, it’s three fingers, because it’s kind of hard to stick your own dick up there, thank you very much.” He was irritated, and honestly losing his libido. “Bad enough getting caught _kissing_. The lecture and so called not-punishment was enough.” 

Bill had been controlling pretty much everything that he did prior to his wings. Free time was synonymous with curfew, because apparently sleeping was enough time for Desmond to have to himself. Most of what he did, he did alone, and when he had fooled around with Clay, it was after curfew and in the dark with nothing but spit. Far from ideal.

“I know that spit is really shitty lube, sex is awkward as fuck when it’s in the dark and you have less than fifteen minutes before some asshole comes down the hall. I’ve only been with another virgin, I don’t know if I’m any good at anything.” He should’ve just convinced Connor. “I’m sorry my dad kind of scheduled my entire life up until now, and I never actually had casual sex that wasn’t like... awkward hand jobs.” Desmond was the embodiment of the term ‘unhappy.’

Altair actually grimaced at the mention of spit. He hated spit unless there happened to be kissing involved. “You poor thing,” Altair said and put his finger under Desmond’s chin. He pressed his mouth briefly against Desmond’s before standing up, his wings rustling. “Get on the bed, take off your clothes,” he said, sounding like he expected Desmond to do as he said. It didn’t even cross his mind that he wouldn’t, since everyone did as Altair said. Sure usually his orders weren’t ‘take off your clothes’ but everyone always did them.

He turned away from Desmond and went to his dresser. Altair owned about three shirts but he still had a ‘shirt drawer’. “You better not be wearing pants when I turn around,” he said as he opened the drawer and other than his three shirts he also had condoms and lube in there. Altair didn’t have a lot of stuff and he didn’t have a lot of places to put stuff and his ‘shirt drawer’ was just an empty drawer basically. Perfect for condoms and lube and whatever else he thought he needed.

He was right back into it almost immediately when Altair ordered him around. There was a nervousness to his movements, but he made sure he was definitely pants-less. 

Rather, Desmond was naked on Altair’s bed, even though he’d had a minor deliberation. He had said to take off his clothes, and a generalization usually meant all, not less in the same way that taking out targets meant all of the targets, not just the front. It wasn’t that there was anything for him to be ashamed of regarding his body; he was definitely in shape, but fuck, this was Altair he was getting naked for.

So maybe he’d blown it a little out of proportion in his head but... it really meant something incredible for him.

Altair tapped a condom into his hand. Huh, he only had this one left. When the hell had that happened? He was sure he had more than just this one. He didn't look forward to asking for more. The humans have them so much hell for how fast they went through condoms. Not their fault they were genetically superior to humans meaning most girls wanted to be with them since they were, on a much lower instinctual level, vastly superior to human men. And that was even if the flock wasn't a bit incestuous. So yeah, the flock had a lot of sex.

He'd deal with the fact that he was out of condoms later though. He turned around and like he'd ordered Desmond was sitting on his bed, naked except for his fluffy wings. "Good," Altair said with a grin and went over to the bed.

When he kneeled on the bed Altair pushed all the dumb baggage out of his mind. This was a physical thing and Altair was used to sex being physical. He didn't give a fuck about it most other ways honestly. Some people might call him a bastard for that but for Altair it was just how it was. He'd make it good for Desmond though and then hopefully after this he wouldn't be so damn weird or awkward with him.

Desmond watched him, wings half unfolded. He was nervous and aroused, and it didn’t feel that bad. It was so unfair, Altair wasn’t looking like he’d drop his clothes any time soon, and he’d probably been forgetting to blink.

The low tone to the praise Altair gave him did all kinds of things to him, and as Altair practically slunk onto the bed, he couldn’t decide whether he should move to fit against him or wait until he was grabbed and handled. Desmond settled for reaching out to trail fingertips over the muscle that crossed his chest and torso. He recognized the thick corded expanse of his main flight muscles and traced them all the way up over Altair’s shoulder.

Definitely unfair. He wanted to see the rest of the angle of his hips.

Altair let Desmond touch him, let him trail his fingers on Altair's hot skin. He tossed the lube and condom on the bed, out of the way for when he'd need it.

He leaned forward so their lips brushed briefly and he flicked his tongue out catching Desmond's upper lip with a smirk. He slid his hands down his body to where Desmond's hands were and placed his larger hands over Desmond's. "We're going to go slow," he said deliberately. Mainly he didn't want to hurt Desmond, which wouldn't be impossible. Avians we're stronger than humans and their bones, while strong, were easier to break than a human.

He twisted his hands around so he could thread his fingers through Desmond's. "I want you to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you," Altair said in a low voice, leaning to speak into Desmond's ear. He ran his tongue along his neck when he finished.

Desmond missed Altair’s tongue when he tried to catch it and follow up with a kiss. His hands stilled while his wings twitched, feathers fluffing out even more. His brain caught up with what Altair was all but purring against his ear, and he squeezed the fingers intertwined with his.

“… I think I really, I really- fuck-“ Altair’s tongue cut him off, mostly because he hadn’t been expecting it, but Jesus Christ, his breath was hot. There were so many things that sprang to the tip of his tongue, begging to be said. “Yeah, I want your hands. Tight, slow. And your mouth, on my skin. Talk to me, tell me… what to do for you.” Desmond’s head tipped to the side, “I want to learn what you like too.”  
“Stretch me – uh, or make me do it myself,” he swore again, mostly at the image that sprang up behind his eyes. “Then fuck me even slower.”

Altair chuckled low in Desmond's ear, "Just breathe," he said, whisper soft in Desmond's ear. God damn this kid. Yeah he'd been expecting horny, sexually frustrated virgin, but he hadn't been expecting him to be this fucking thirsty. He nuzzled against the side of Desmond's head, behind his ear. His wings enveloped them, tucking Desmond inside them, against him.

"Now," Altair said slowly, his lips traced the cup of Desmond's ear as he spoke, making his wings fluff up. "I want you to /calmly/ tell me what you want," and he sucked on the lobe of his ear. "Otherwise we'll stay right here until you can," he said and released one of Desmond's hands to trace his forefinger down the cleft of his abs.

He didn’t even try to stop the whine that crawled up his throat. Altair was an insufferable, impossible bastard, he really was. Desmond was keenly aware of each feather rising on his back when he shivered. His freed hand went for Altair’s upper arm, grabbing onto his shoulder as if to make sure he was actually there.

It took him awhile to gather enough breath to repeat himself without feeling like hyperventilating. Somehow, the wings around him helped. “Touch me,” Desmond began slowly, “lick me, bite me, don’t even think about not kissing me either.” The more he said, the easier it got, and the treatment definitely went right for his dick.

“Talk... to me. Make me open myself up, and- and fuck me.” His voice broke, caught somewhere between speech and breathing.

 

Altair had to admit, he liked the sound of /all/ of those things. "Okay," Altair said and licked his neck again, "I can do all that," and turned the lick into a bite, not terribly hard, more of a nip really. He gave Desmond gentle bites down his neck, around his throat to his clavicle.

He pushed Desmond back, making him lie down and looked him over like he would a   
. His soft gray feathers made sharp edges against his skin and shoulders. "Now," Altair said, sort of to himself, "where oh where, should I start?" As he asked he ran the tips of his fingers down Desmond's chest, across his soft belly and to his muscular thighs. "Where do you want me to start?" he asked Desmond as his hands slid under Desmond's thighs and lifted and pulled, dragging Desmond a few inches towards him and hooking his legs over his things. Desmond's ass pressed against the top of Altair's knees, his legs now hanging on either side of Altair's waist so Altair was very effectively kneeling between Desmond's open legs.

Desmond’s wings swung out so they wouldn’t be caught beneath him. The movement was purely instinct - he was pretty distracted with Altair’s teeth and lips making a hot, damp path down his throat.

A soft groan let his mouth when Altair pulled him down against his legs. He didn’t think he’d ever been this hard in his life. The feathers tickled, and his body pressed up beneath Altair’s fingers, hanging in the air until he was moved. Desmond tugged him down, hand fitting itself at the back of his neck, mumbling something about a kiss.  
His hands and body seemed to be a lot less reserved, even though he blushed as he pushed his hips up, really only succeeding in squirming. Desmond did find Altair’s hand, and was trying to hold it again. “I’m... kind of trying really hard not to touch myself, here,” he said, chagrin obvious in even his voice while his mouth was half against Altair’s.

Altair licked his tongue against Desmond's lower lip, making his breath catch. "Maybe you should," he said, squeezing the hand Desmond had very pointedly taken hold of. "Do you want me to watch you touch yourself?" Because he wasn't adverse to the idea. He was about as voyer as most men were, he didn't mind watching.

He nodded, not trusting his voice after he very nearly chirped at him. Desmond managed a breathless “Yeah, please,” when he could, and then asked, a little numbly for the lube. He hadn’t kept track of where Altair tossed it to. 

Not that it mattered, he couldn’t quite reach it anyway, but he definitely wasn’t going to go at it dry or with his own spit. Desmond had experienced enough of that. He could show Altair what he did a lot easier than he could tell him.

Altair reached up to the head of the bed, leaning over Desmond, to grab the bottle of lube. He didn't hand it to Desmond rather just uncapped it and squeezed a healthy dollop onto Desmond's erect cock. It twitched because the lube was probably cold from Altair's room. He snapped the cap closed again once he was done and once more tossed it to the head of the bed. He was going to have ask for more of that too, it was less than a quarter till empty now.

"Go on," he encouraged and squeezed Desmond's hip and wrestling his other hand from Desmond's hand. He put his hands on Desmond's hips, working his thumbs in a circle in the hollow of his hips before sliding them down a bit, down his thighs.

His entire body twitched - the lube was fucking freezing. Desmond grabbed himself at the base, already forever thankful for the cold fluid. It beat spit and waiting for precum already, and he hadn’t even done much.

He used both hands, one caressing and fondling his balls, and the other tight and pumping over his erection. Two or three times, and Desmond let up, pulling back foreskin with his thumb to focus on the sensitive head with a trilling whimper, sinking into the bed while his hips jerked upward.

Desmond bit his lip, finally bringing himself to look at Altair watching him.

Altair's watched with warm interest, and let his eyes soak in Desmond who seemed very happy right there, enjoying himself for Altair. He ran his hands further down Desmond's thighs and then back up, excruciatingly slowly. His fingers slid inward toward Desmond's groin but didn't touch him. He wouldn't touch him unless Desmond asked him too.

Instead he just leaned over Desmond and looked into his blown eyes. He was so painfully turned on my Altair watching him. It made Altair grin and press a kiss to Desmond's mouth. It was brief though and he turned to nibble Desmond's lower lip. Then he slid his mouth down further and bit and sucked on Desmond's throat. He left two clear, red, marks high on Desmond's throat. They'd be there tomorrow too; Altaïr made sure of that.

His fingers tightened, and he felt like each mark Altair was making made it next to impossible for him to breathe, never mind the short, teasing kisses. Desmond’s fingers tightened once more, staving himself off. “Can... can I...? I don’t want to come unless you’re in me.”

Desmond couldn’t get any redder than he was, and it was even spreading across his chest. Each mark Altair sucked and bit onto his skin was a bloom of warmth behind the growing bruise. The hand that had been on his balls had slipped even further, dragging lube down over his ass while the other trapped his throbbing cock against his lower navel.

Altaïr smirked. Oh this poor virgin he had to deal with. Altaïr reached down and pushed Desmond's hand down, out of the way and wrapped his hand around Desmond's cock firmly. "You're young, you'll get it up again," because he remembered when he was nineteen. He'd barely been able to stay out of Malik's bed, both two horny avian teenagers who had no one but each other to fumble with. 

"Let's see you come," he licked the end of Desmond's nose and started to pump his hand up and down Desmond's slick cock. He ran his thumb against the slit firmly with nearly each pull upwards. He sat back a bit, mainly so they could both see, the flushed head of Desmond's cock going in and out of Altaïr's fist. Desmond was leaking pre cum all over, on his stomach and on Altaïr's hand. Altaïr could feel how tight and hard he was, he was literally going to blow at any moment. Huh, speaking of blowing Altaïr wanted to see if Desmond look as good with Altaïr's cock in his mouth as he thought he would.

He did not last long with Altair treating him the way he did, giving a strangled cry as he came. Desmond’s hips still bucked even while he softened in his hand. Everything just felt hypersensitive and tender, and holy shit, he didn’t really care if Altair wanted him to hold off on fingering himself because his middle finger was feeling pretty damn good.

Desmond paid no mind to the awkward position he was in, messily slicked hand trapped between his ass and Altair’s thigh, because he was right - the fledgeling was far from done. “Al... Alty,” he was having minor difficulties making words sound like they were supposed to, and it was probably the fourth or fifth try before something remotely similar to Altair’s name made it out of his mouth. Mostly, there were weird mixtures of bird sounds and panting moans while he held onto his breath.

Altair had his mouth back up and attached to Desmond’s neck, high up and against his jaw, sucking a red mark onto his skin that wouldn’t be going away anytime soon. He grinned as Desmond struggled to just say his name and all the half formed sounds he made honestly got him going. He liked hearing them. He pressed his lips against Desmond’s neck, making his way down slowly, letting go of his cock which he was sure would be hard again as soon as Desmond could physically manage it. He bit Desmond’s chest, leaving behind impressions of his teeth, hard enough to make Desmond squirm and then kissed the angry red marks gently.

Once he was sure he’d put enough mouth shaped marks on Desmond’s chest he layered his tongue back up, tasting salty sweat and the smell that was a taste on his tongue of fledgling. He was pretty sure that was what was making him hard right now. Fuck it had made him plenty hard when he and Malik had fooled around.

Altair sat up after pressing a kiss to Desmond’s chin, teasing him like he was about to kiss his lips but pulled back. Instead he just sat back on his calves and looked Desmond over. Most of the top of his chest was covered in the shape of Altair’s mouth, teeth marks standing out significantly to the point they’d be curved rows of bruises tomorrow. There were fewer hickeys the lower he looked and a line of cum on his stomach from Altair getting him off. Altair was slightly surprised to see Desmond’s hand down between his legs, behind his balls, but didn’t comment. Kid could get off however the fuck he wanted.

Once he’d soaked in enough of Desmond Altair looked down and undid the button and zipper of his jeans. His cock was very happy about that since it was half hard and starting to feel heavy, pressed inside the confines of his jeans. He grabbed himself through his briefs the cotton showing the full shape and he wasn’t even fully hard yet and there was a small damp spot off to the side. “So,” Altair said slowly, a lazy grin on his face, “open that cute mouth of yours,” and he licked his lips.

Altair was going to be the death of him. Looking up with dark eyes, it was almost possible to see the process while he picked through exactly what Altair had said to him; what it meant. His gaze flicked to the still half obscured cock Altair was working half heartedly.

He honestly didn’t think a dick would be that fucking huge, not that he’d seen many, but... Christ. Desmond shuddered. “I... don’t think-” Hell, he was getting really nervous about it now. Could he even actually take it. Three fingers wasn’t beginning to sound like enough. The fuck was he kidding. He’d fantasized about it for months, and Desmond was gonna get it. 

Desmond shook his head, trying to take back his worry while he tried to sit up somewhat. even His abandon was obvious whether or not he tried to cover it up. His own lips twitched into a smile, and he wet them before opening his mouth just like he’d asked.

Altair pulled the front of his briefs down and held his cock with sure fingers. “Watch your wings,” he reminded Desmond so they didn’t get shoved into an uncomfortable position. He gently tugged at Desmond’s hand between his legs out so he could move to straddle Desmond’s hips and then sort of shuffled to get himself further up Desmond’s chest. He gently cradled the back of Desmond’s head with one hand and used the other to pull Desmond’s hand up to his cock. He didn’t want to choke the kid, nothing worse than bad first blowjob experience. “Go on,” Altair said in gentle encouragement. This close Altair knew he’d been right; his cock was going to look so good in Desmond’s mouth.

He didn’t have the best idea concerning what he was doing, and was almost uncharacteristically tentative when he did at least lick the offered organ. Desmond pulled the head into his mouth, tongue against what he could reach of the underside. A lot of it was a slow kind of touch-and-go, but the weight and heat of Altair’s cock in his mouth quickly became something he wanted more of.

The first attempt to actually suck and swallow ended with him coughing, gripping Altair’s hip. Desmond didn’t take the time to apologize, he didn’t really care whose fault it was, and took him right back up after licking a path down the side of him. No one could say he didn’t pick up skills that interested him, though a dick in his face probably wasn’t one of the things he thought he’d be so keen on.

Getting past his gag reflex was worth it, and he’d only grazed Altair with his teeth three or... maybe four times. He’d expected the swift cuffs to the back of his head each time, like it was a mistake on something as trivial as a test. Desmond whined around him, and was probably for the first time glad that he could hold his breath for an obscene amount of time. To do obscene amounts of things, now.

Altair did his best not to wince each time Desmond forgot he had teeth. It wasn’t like it hurt, it was just the danger that he had _teeth next to his dick_. Not something he liked to think about. He kinda just tried to focus on the shape of Desmond’s mouth around his cock, which was nice. About as great as he thought it would be; which was a lot. 

He wasn’t really getting hard though. Desmond wasn’t bad; but he wasn’t good either. It was an adequate first blow job that was for sure. Could only go up from there and maybe would gain some skill when someone actually blew him, christ Desmond was a complete virgin it was sort of terrifying. At the very least it had started out shitty and when Altair pulled himself out of Desmond’s mouth it was okay, if you ignored the teeth, which Altair was. “Just suck,” he ordered and put the head of his cock in Desmond’s mouth, but no more than that, and used his hand to pleasure himself because it was about the only way he was going to get fully erect right now. 

Desmond made a muffled sound, some more sober part of him aware that he barely skidded past that by literally, the skin of his teeth. The rest of him was too busy sucking and licking the head of Altair’s cock, which was a rather welcome addition to his mouth. Behind him, his wings were going between partially opened and closed, unable to quite settle on a position to remain in.

His fingers returned, lightly touching whatever wasn’t either in his mouth or Altair’s fist. Desmond’s eyes were closed, and he was more or less completely out of it, barely aware that he’d recovered almost completely already, and was dripping sluggishly across his navel once again. His head tipped to the side and he slid his tongue against the slit of his dick, opening his mouth to breathe over him. The word exhale would be putting it lightly. It was more of a moan, no way around it.

Altair had to admit, he did like how chill Desmond was about this. He’d been so damn high strung earlier and now that Altair had him all laid out on the bed, naked, with a cock in him and he was just... chill. Which was good since that was Altair’s general position about sex. He enjoyed casual sex most of the time and sort of hoped and didn’t hope this happened again. Didn’t cause it was Desmond and was still kinda weird, but did cause _damn_ it was kinda hot and Altair wasn’t turned on by much.

He pulled his cock out of Desmond’s mouth and it made a wet sound as it did so. Altair gently stroked Desmond’s face with his thumb, “Not bad for your first blow job,” he said with a little smirk. “Now tell me if you wanna be on your back or belly when I fuck you,” he ran his thumb down Desmond’s lips. “Or you wanna ride?” cause he was a fan of riding, meant he didn’t have to do anything.

“I asked you to ‘fuck me even slower,’” He answered when he could. Desmond licked the thumb Altair slid over his lips, and then gently bit it with a lazy grin. His wings had already fanned, unfolded, fluffy expanses of feathers. “An... I wanna see you.” His eyes flicked to Altair’s mouth.

With the both of them winged - and with huge wings at that, he assumed he’d probably end up riding him at some point. What he really wanted was Altair on top of him so he could hook his legs around his hips, and be pinned down under his shadow.

“Okay,” Altair said and reached to grab the bottle of lube above Desmond’s head and moved off him to once more kneel between Desmond’s legs. He pulled them over his thighs and around his waist familiarly. He had to admit, he really liked this position too, even if it was boring and ‘vanilla’. Fuck that vanilla was Altair’s favorite flavor of ice cream, vanilla could be great. Though he was still enjoying the thought of Desmond straddling his lap. 

He leaned down and pressed his mouth to Desmond’s, he tasted himself in Desmond’s mouth from his pre cum but it was irrelevant. Honestly it was just kinda hot. Altair reminded himself the shape of Desmond’s mouth with his tongue slowly and used his thighs to push Desmond’s legs apart. He knew Desmond wanted Altair to watch him finger himself but he wanted to do some of it too. He wanted to be the one to make Desmond just _squirm_. And beg. The thought went right to his cock. Oh yeah, that would have to happen.

He lubed up his hand, warming it in his fingers and gave Desmond’s cock a squeeze. He pulled his mouth off to see what he was doing and slid his hand down further, past his balls to his ass. Altair grinned when Desmond’s feathers fluffed up just a little when he slid his finger into him.  
He couldn’t help suckling a little on Altair’s tongue, amused and aroused. Desmond’s hips twitched, responding to the tight, brief tug. He’d been onto two fingers when Altair had interrupted him for the blow job, but the fact that it wasn’t his hand made it just as good.

Desmond raised one leg, hooking his hand under his knee to hold it up against his chest. Ignoring the burn of that stretch was easy, baring himself like that for Altair was plenty hot. 

“Another... finger, Alty.”

“Just relax, I’ll get to it,” Altair promised with a smug grin. Oh this could be fun, Altair could already tell. Desmond was impatient, but Altair had all the time in the world. It wasn’t even dinner yet, there was _plenty_ of time. If it was another moment maybe he’d make Desmond wait past dinner. Get him all ready and just ‘after dinner’ and just leave. How many times had Malik done that to him? Too many honestly. The sex somehow was always better than normal though.

He wouldn’t do that though. If there was a next time; would totally do it because it would bother the hell out of Desmond since clearly he had a shorter trigger than Altair.

He worked another finger into Desmond pretty easily, and used some more lube to get his fingers in deep and started to slowly stretch Desmond out so he could get a third in there and eventually his dick. Desmond was pretty tight around his fingers as it was and needed some serious TLC with Altair’s hand, but damn he was going to feel so good.

Desmond was doing what he could to relax, which was clearly easier said than done. When he had, though, most of what he did was rolling his hips, trying to take them deeper. Seriously, Altair was a dick. It was like he was avoiding his prostate. He actually growled at him when he couldn’t force it.

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked for a slow fuck, but Altair withholding things from him only made him hotter, if the ache that settled in his gut.

Once he was sure Desmond was opened enough he added a third finger. He was so well prepared though that when Altair pushed his other hand down the forth also slipped right in. Altaïr switched some fingers around so he had two from each hand in him. It allowed for a greater range of mobility and instead of just spreading his fingers to get Desmond ready he could sort of... pull. Not very hard though not enough to hurt, maybe just enough for it to burn a little.

He felt precum drip down the length of his cock. Well he wanted a fuck now since pre cum was a good indication of how into the sex he was. 

He only kept four fingers in Desmond for about a minute before going back down to three and then two and finally just one. He anticipated Desmond's complaint by pushing his finger in deep and twisting it just so. All guys were arranged in basically the same way and Altair didn't have trouble finding the prostate to run the pad of his finger against that wonderful little bundle of nerves. He grinned at the sound Desmond made when he finally paid attention to it. He adored it.

His nails dug into the underside of his thigh, while the other wrenched Altair’s sheets. He had needed that, oh Hell, he had needed that tiny little motion. Desmond had shuddered when Altair stretched him, but it was nothing next to the writhing he did then. 

“A- ah, Altair, please- yes-” He was preoccupied with trying to fuck himself on that one finger now. Hardly enough. “Fuck- fuck me, please! Alty...” Desmond faded off in an impatient whine, eyes open and staring up at him, totally blown out other than the flicker of gold.

Altaïr chuckled darkly at Desmond's impatience. But fuck it he was horny and his cock heavy and needy. He wanted to fuck Desmond clearly almost as much as Desmond wanted Altair to fuck him.

He pulled his finger out of Desmond and after a moment of searching found the condom. He used his teeth to open it since his hands were too slick from fingering Desmond. But he got it open and rolled it down the flush, firm, form of his cock. It twitched at the attention and Altair grinned. "Ready?" he asked and fit his hand under Desmond's knee. But really didn't need an answer. He didn't wait for one either. He just used his hand to help guide him in and pushed Desmond's leg up a bit as he slid in. The flared zipper of Altaïr's jeans met the soft flesh of Desmond's ass as he pushed himself up to the hilt, his wings flaring out a little because Desmond was tight and warm and felt so damn good.

Desmond keened, and it was no sound a human could have made. His wings moved as much as they could, fluttering.

The feeling of a zipper - cold - and jeans - really rough - on his ass was altogether ignored for the throbbing, massive heat that slid completely within him in one go. He’d been immaculately prepared, and he definitely felt it. Desmond froze up somewhat when he finally realized that the things he was saying weren’t coming out quite right. He sounded like a winded bird.

Altaïr groaned as he sat fully seated inside Desmond. Everything felt really good except when he felt Desmond tense up. "Ah, don't do that," Altaïr said and squeezed Desmond's knee from the bottom. "I can't fuck you if you're too tight," honestly he didn't want to move until Desmond had unclenched. He didn't want to hurt Desmond and he knew from first hand experience that clenching was not a fun thing to do when having a really fun time like having sex.

Desmond whined, vaguely irritated that his words weren’t words other than the interrupted mantra of Altair’s name. He lifted his hips, all but clinging to the sound of the other’s voice to get himself to relax. It was a conscious effort, as much as remaining mostly silent was.

His silence lasted until Altair began to move. “Aaalty, Alty-” Desmond just ended up moaning, bottom lip caught tight between his teeth.

Altaïr leaned over Desmond, lifting his leg as he did so, pushing it up against his chest. He was glad when Desmond unclenched because it meant he could move his hips. Desmond was out of sync with him when he tried to move his own and Altair just put Desmond's leg on his shoulder to free up his hands. He pressed one against Desmond's pelvis, keeping him still, the other grabbed one of his wrists and pinned it to the bed, squeezing rather tightly.

He liked how his name kept falling off Desmond's tongue helplessly. It was like he couldn't say anything else honestly. Just a soft, desperate, repetition of what he used to call Altaïr when he was young and couldn't pronounce Altaïr's name. For some reason Altair found it /really/ hot Desmond was doing that and fucked him a bit harder for it. His groin and balls smacking against Desmond's ass roughly, the teeth of his jeans no doubt were going to leave red marks on Desmond's ass for this. Just more marks Altair was leaving on Desmond and did so gladly. 

Tomorrow was going to be fun for Desmond, and Altair knew the entire flock would be able to smell him on Desmond. Knew he'd been the one to leave all those bruises on his skin. The thought of it made him move faster still, his ragged breath becoming even more labored still.

Desmond clearly loved Altair gripping his wrist, even though he pulled against it. There was nothing he could have asked him to do more. He was really and truly just that; a desperate mess. It was the perfect mix of pain and pleasure, leaning heavily toward pleasure, but nothing less than perfect.

How he even managed to last that long was beyond him. Desmond’s body tightened up, muscles spasming as he shot off for the second time without much more warning than another bird’s cry. Not even a single touch to his cock since Altair began fucking him.

His free hand had buried itself in Altair’s short hair, gripping almost as tightly as his ass clenched.

Altaïr grunted and came to a stop. Fuck. He looked down to Desmond's groin and saw he'd come again. No touching, just from a cock in his ass. Well that was unexpected and also kinda hot.

"Des," Altair gasped a little at the pressure around him as Desmond rode his orgasm. Desmond was so tight Altair basically couldn't move. He was stuck. "Des," he said again and squeezed Desmond's write hard to get his attention, "Let go," he said as a way to tell Desmond he was too tight. "I'm not done yet," because fuck his orgasm was right there and nearby and he wanted it so badly. 

Desmond just stared at him, confused and hazy as his body went through a shorter, less violent tremor. “Alty.” He smiled, hand slipping from his hair. “Finish using me,” he hissed, even though he was so sensitive and just feeling Altair was beginning to hurt. He was done, and it was so good, and Altair wasn’t and he _needed_ him to be, but moving was so hard with limbs about as persuadable as al dente pasta. Thinking was just about as hard, all things considered.

The marks were bruising on his skin, reminding him so sweetly that it wasn’t a horribly rude dream. Desmond’s hips twitched under Altair’s hand, utterly beyond his control.

"There you go," Altair said softly when he found he could move again. Thank god. He leaned forward taking his hand off Desmond's hip to place under his wing to hold himself up, Desmond's leg still over his shoulder. He was almost done, almost, he could feel his orgasm at the base of his spine. Just a little more.

Altaïr snapped his hips forward roughly against Desmond. The kid had come so really now he was only worried about his own pleasure, and Desmond had just basically begged to be used and taken roughly. So he did, thrusting into Desmond deeply and firmly with each snap of his hips his breath a gasp each time he pushed in.

He moaned loudly and his wings kicked up a little wind when he came. He pushed himself as far up and into Desmond as he could manage lifting his ass up off the bed with how much he pushed in. He squeezed Desmond's wrist tightly, painfully, enough to leave a light bruise there for later. His orgasm felt so good and when it was over he felt spent and tired.

Panting still a bit he eased himself out of Desmond's abused hole. The tip of the condom had a lot of cum in it. He hadn't realized he'd come that much. No wonder he felt so exhausted. He leaned back to sit, Desmond's leg sliding off his shoulder to his waist.

Most of the noises out of him were sharp inhales. He couldn’t even manage the coordination to push back against each thrust, but being fucked into the bed was, at the moment, close to one of the best things he’d experienced.

“Kiss me,” he demanded quietly, chest still heaving. Desmond didn’t even want to get up to wash himself off, that was how utterly spent and content he was.

Altaïr was pulling off the condom when Desmond's managed to string a few words together. He tied off the open end and dropped it on the floor to throw away later. Then he leaned forward to press his mouth firmly to Desmond's, cupping his face in both hands. He pressed his tongue into Desmond's mouth and stroked his thumbs across Desmond's cheeks. He kissed all the breath out of Desmond's body, so the only thing he could breathe in was Altaïr.

All he could taste and feel was Altair as well, and he breathed deeply of him, inviting that tongue with a soft trill. Desmond was left literally breathless, lips kiss-bruised and quivering as much as his feathers were while he fought to breathe.

His limbs seemed to remember they belonged to a mind, and Desmond wrapped them around Altair, pulling. Whether it was to pull himself upright or to pull Altair even closer, it didn’t seem to matter to him. Desmond had never felt this consumed by anything, not even the time he’d fallen asleep in Altair’s feathers as a child. That was it, just him and Altair and the aches he was given with tongue and tooth.

As he kissed Desmond Altair vaguely wondered how easy it would be to take him again. Pretty easy probably. Just a matter of getting it up. It was a more tempting thought than Altair wanted to admit to too.

He pulled away from Desmond, licking Desmond's lips on the way back and sat up again. He looked down at Desmond. The kid looked blissed out and totally into the fact that Altair had just taken his virginity and fucked him roughly into the mattress. He looked at Altair a bit dreamily with a dumb grin on his face. Altaïr had to admit, the kid looked good fucked out of his mind and covered in hickeys and his own cum.

"No need to worry about that pesky virginity anymore," Altair teased him, giving his thigh a light squeeze.

His laugh was a soft one, still somewhat lost for breath. He didn’t really mind coming down from a high as good as that one, but it did make every bruise dull and clear. Desmond stretched, and winced a little because Altair hadn’t taken ‘use me’ lightly at all.

The cum was drying and as it did was becoming equally uncomfortable and not so attractive. He covered his face with his hands, mouth parted as he sucked in air. “Did it mean anything else for you?” He didn’t even want to begin to sort through his own thoughts.

Desmond’s legs were still loosely hooked around Altair’s hips, and he was loathe to move them. The hand that had squeezed his thigh was warm, and he smiled again.

Altaïr's mouth thinned. This shit again. Wasn't the point of this so he could get over this? He leaned back, holding himself up like a lean-to and looked him over. Really Altair didn't want to answer. He said no he was an asshole who'd just used Desmond to get off. He said yes he was a liar. Neither were good options for him honestly. At the very least he could be honest about it though.

"I enjoyed it," he said, because he had. "And I'm going to enjoy a shower and a nap after it," because he was. Shower, nap, then dinner, in that order. But it was also exactly what it was for him. Sex was just a thing he did like shower or sleep or eat. Nice, easy, casual sex; the way Altair liked it. "And maybe have another cigarette," he added with a smirk and oh did a cigarette sound so good right now too.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine.” He swatted Altair’s stomach. “No cigarette. Can I stay until dinner?” Desmond shifted to sit up gingerly, enough so that his wings could stretch out and flap the circulation back through them. He left feathers across Altair’s bed, and even more when they moved. “I... enjoyed it too,” he said, leaning up to kiss the corner of his jaw.

"I'll have a cigarette if I wanna," Altaïr grumbled. Fuck it was like Malik all over again: 'don't smoke Altair.' 'No cigarettes.' Fuck that he could smoke if he wanted to. He'd had one in six months, two in a week wasn't going to kill him.

"I guess," Altair shrugged, he didn't mind. Honestly it would make him feel better since he was supposed to keep an eye on Desmond and night time was literally the one point in the day Altaïr couldn't get up and go check on him. It made him.anxious, like he was fucking up in some way, even though it was perfectly reasonable for Altaïr to not be able to check in on Desmond while he slept.

"I'm going to take a shower," he sighed, said he was sticky and sweaty and smelled like sex, and that was on top of his full day of doing shit. The smell of Desmond wouldn't come off that easily though, he'd smell like Desmond for at least a day. He untangled himself from Desmond and stood up, finally dropping his pants and briefs.

He scooted to the edge of the bed. “You already had one,” Desmond mumbled. He’d hated the smell when he came in, and the taste kind of clung to Altair’s mouth. His wings folded behind him. “‘N can I shower with you?” 

Even without asking, he’d probably weasel his way into the bathroom.

Altaïr lowered his wings a bit to look over his shoulder at Desmond. Altaïr's wings could handle water. They weren't like Ed's which were made for it, but he could take a normal shower. "If you can stand up on your own, sure," since Desmond had to be sore after what Altaïr had just done to him, "And you're drying your wings off if you get them wet," then he walked to the bathroom.

Desmond thought he’d be fine. He wasn’t, and ended up sagging awkwardly against the edge of the bed, wings flapping to try and keep him upright. He could walk, it wasn’t as if his motor control was gone, it just... hurt a little. 

Walls had become a new best friend, and he did wish he hadn’t even tried to get up, but he did feel pretty gritty, but at the least, he wanted to get the cum off of his skin. Desmond’s wings were half spread while he moved, and only really folded completely when he went into the bathroom. Altair was kind of shit with aftercare, not that Desmond knew anything about it.

Altaïr liked his showers cool, not cold, but sort of just below body temperature. It helped keep the naturally high body temperature of an avian from getting out of hand in a world tailored for human temperatures. It also meant he didn't have to wait for the water to heat up and just got it.

He sighed in delight as the water hit his head and then looked out a few moments later when he heard something. "I'm actually impressed right now," Altaïr said, he was too. The fact that Desmond could get himself here on his own accord was pretty impressive after how rough Altaïr had been with him. he wiped some water that was dripping down his face off, "Going to join me or just stand there?"

“This is going to hurt worse tomorrow, isn’t it?” He managed to fit himself into the shower, wings away from his back to keep them from getting too wet. He’d gotten them completely soaked a second time, and after that, refused to make the same mistake again. It was a lot worse when he had all of his downy feathers, and hadn’t been able to move them until they dried, and that was an entirely different fiasco.

Desmond mostly leaned himself against the wall. The cold water made each bruise and mark stand out to him, distinctly feeling the warmth under his skin. An effort was made to actually clean himself, although the success was incredibly varied. Standing hurt, the water was beginning to hurt too, and he was tired despite the fact that the sun was still hanging in the sky. He had never wanted it to go away so much.

"It's a distinct possibly. If you're lucky Rauf will go easy on you tomorrow," Altair said. He knew Haytham had ever gone easy on him and Malik, even if they beat each other black and blue.

Altaïr wasn't unsympathetic to Desmond's aches though. He knew it sucked to just hurt to exist or to wash yourself. Altaïr was always efficient when he washed because eventually the water stopped running off the top of his wings and got into his feathers and he needed to dry them thoroughly so they didn't mold. His nightmare was to wake up wings smelling of mold and mildew.

Once he'd cleaned himself up he turned to Desmond, quite literally, standing front of him, his wings fanned out so to not block _all_ the water, but a good deal of it. He reached down and grabbed Desmond's ass, but more to hold him up than anything. With the other he helped Desmond clean up. to get use of both hands he pressed his knee between Desmond's thighs so he could rest his weight on it.

There wasn't anything sexual in Altair washing Desmond, or with his leg between his. It was just practical and efficient, as were his hands on Desmond's skin, his hands moving with more speed and purpose than Desmond's who kinda just looked like he wanted to lay down. Easier this way than worrying about him falling in the shower or something. That'd be a great thing explain to Ed and later to Bill 'yeah Desmond fell asleep in my shower... Why was he in there? Well we fucked and he needed to clean up.' Best to avoid that sort of conversation.

The extent of his response to being grabbed, and then later propped up against Altair’s thigh was really nothing more than a quiet kind of gasp. It also told Desmond how fucking sore his legs were. “You need to do that when I’m not so fucking tired,” Desmond grumbled without much conviction. He let his eyes close, and ended up holding on to Altair rather than clean himself. The sound of the shower and the slightly unkind efficiency of Altair’s hands kept him more or less conscious up until the point his forehead met with the other’s shoulder.

Altaïr didn't comment but his brows did go up when Desmond abruptly leaned forward into the meat of his shoulder. "Uh... Desmond?" he asked curiously. Desmond didn't move. The kid had just fallen the fuck asleep! He gave a sleeping Desmond an irritated look and now he had some dead weight to deal with.

At the very least he finished cleaning Desmond up, being rather gentle on his backside. Then he turned off the shower. He looked down Desmond's back before wrapping both his hands under his thighs and lifting. Between Altaïr's strength and Desmond's light weight he wasn't the most obnoxious thing Altair had ever lifted in his life.

He stepped out of the shower carefully and walked to the bedroom, the bathroom door still open. With a grunt he leaned down to set Desmond on the bed, Desmond's skin was covered in goosebumps from the chill. Desmond laid down on his own will at least and Altair went back into the bathroom to dry off. He draped a towel over Desmond when he came out but for the most part just left him on top of the bed, to the side of where Altair had fucked him.

Satisfied Desmond wasn't going to bother him or get hypothermic Altair went and found his box of cigarettes and opened the windows. He lit up and towel around his waist sat on the sill to smoke a well deserved after sex cigarette.

Desmond remained pretty dead to the world. Other than turning his face into the sheets that smelled like Altair, he hadn’t moved. He didn’t wake for the smell of Altair’s cigarette, and burying his face kept him blissfully unaware of the sun in the windows.

When he did wake up, it was against his will. His wings had splayed out over the bed, and had dried out pretty well for the time he had slept. Desmond groaned and hid his face, burrowing further into sheets and pillows. The sun was much lower, and if he had to guess, he probably missed dinner. The growling of his stomach told him he had.

Altaïr was laying on the other side of the bed, out of the way of Desmond and his shifting wings. He'd dozed after his cigarette, but nothing like the nap Desmond was pulling of though. Main dinner time had already come and gone but Altaïr didn't want to deal with people, avian or otherwise. Especially avian actually since he didn't want them to ask about how he smelled. He wanted to save that for tomorrow when he didn't have the kid in his damn bed.

He roused himself a bit when Desmond woke, wriggling on the bed a bit. "Ey," Altaïr said, knowing Desmond would hear him, "You hungry?" cause he was hungry too.

He reached for the sound of Altair’s voice, and met with one of his wings. Desmond abandoned the pillows to press his face against his feathers instead with a sound suspiciously birdlike.

“I don’t wanna get up,” he mumbled when he found his voice. He needed to eat, and he knew that, but he really would rather not, because eating meant going to the cafeteria, and that meant moving, something his ass was not too keen on. Desmond also really liked the feeling of Altair’s feathers on his cheek.

Altaïr chuckled, "You're gonna regret it later when you're hungry and the cafeteria is closed," he said. He brought his other wing, the one Desmond wasn't half laying on, around and brushed the end of his primaries across Desmond's flank and belly. "At least let me up, I'm hungry."

Desmond grumbled wordlessly for a moment. “Can’t you just bring me something?” He was already trying to move himself though. His lower half decided that it was a good time to throw out the dull ache and bring in something more akin to having a firework go off on his ass. The jeans and zipper bruises were clearly not happy with the decision to move, much less the idea of clothes.

He spent his time trying not to appear miserable, because somehow, he wasn’t entirely miserable. It mostly just sucked, because he kind of wanted sex a little more often than what was beginning to feel like something that could only be done once a week.

The search for his underwear ended early, and his butt was unhappy with the feeling of raw pants. It didn’t come close to the uneasy soreness of his dick and balls. Desmond stood there deliberating even the idea of zipping up. “Loan me some sweatpants.” Yeah fuck no. He dropped his pants again. No way in hell was he putting those on with or without the briefs (MIA somewhere under Altair’s bed).

Altaïr watched with amusement and not a little bit of satisfaction to see Desmond trying to find his clothing and finding himself sore and tender. Altaïr hadn't exactly been kinda after all, but then Desmond hadn't asked him to be.

Altaïr got out of bed and went to his dresser. He didn't own many pants that were laying around pants since Altaïr didn't do a lot of lying around. He did find a pair of sweats from when he was a teenager though and tossed them to Desmond. "You going to be okay with walking?" he asked, and maybe had a self satisfied, smug, look I'm his face.

Desmond tugged them on without saying anything more. When he did walk, it was accompanied with a slight wince, if the bruises littered across his skin weren’t enough by themselves. He was too hungry to be embarrassed about it, but it gnawed at the back of his mind in the hallway. It was so obvious, and it was strange because he was almost proud that he took it and hadn’t really complained.

He was pretty much assaulted by embarrassment when he got into the mess hall, though it didn’t hit him until he was walking with his pile of food to sit and eat. Desmond picked a seat facing the wall and sat at the edge of it, and it wasn’t even as if anyone was paying him explicit attention, hardly anyone was even there. The thought of it being a public space where a lot of people ended up was enough to make him a little more conscious.

"You know no one cares right?" Altaïr asked, he was sitting across from Desmond with his own plate of food. "We walk around all bit and bruised up all the time," which was true. 

Rauf and Yusuf nearly constantly were covered in hickeys /somewhere/ even if they weren't always obvious since they both also trained rough and had normal bruises too. And there was nothing they could do to hide it. Only Malik could easily wear a shirt and even then they had a big slit on the back.

"To humans you're one of us," he told Desmond who was busy stuffing his face. "And we always look like we just got done having sex," windswept hair and enjoying beating the shit out of each other tended to do that.

“They know who my dad is,” He said, pausing the endeavor of eating to grab his drink. Desmond looked back at his food and continued eating. Altair’s words did little to ease him, and his wings remained raised. Most of the rest of his posture was due to the fact that the chair he was sitting in was unforgiving.

Desmond stared at the mostly empty tray when he was done, leaning over it with his elbows on the table. “It isn’t like I’m suddenly not Desmond Miles, and William Miles suddenly isn’t my father. There’s a whole other side to things that go on here, you know?” Of course Altair knew. He just didn’t care about things that didn’t concern him. “I’m from that other side. They didn’t always know I was gonna end up like this.” He slouched.

"As soon as you were born they knew you would end up like this. You were born with a nictitating membrane same as the rest of us. Everyone who has a head on their shoulders knew you weren't one of them and never would be. You were always one of us. We just let the humans have the appearance of authority over us while we still mostly look human. We've never been human, and neither have you," Altair said and wondered why the hell he had to beat this into Desmond. He should know this. 

The best day of Altaïr's life had been the day his wings had come in and he could stand next to his grandfather, the previous leader of the flock. He was dead now though. But the moment Altaïr had ceased looking human he'd stopped giving a shit what they thought. His father had been important too, but he wasn't avian, the mutation tended to skip a generation in his family. 

People had talked, especially when Malik grew in his wings and it became obvious to everyone what they were doing. It had become boring quickly though even though Altaïr and Malik were the first avians that were similar in age and not related to each other to be born. It had been interesting when they'd done it. No one even looked twice now. It was common place and the flock had no shame. This was what they did. They ate, they fought, they fucked and sometimes they went and scared the shit out of Templars by their very existence of not being feral.

He scowled at the crumbs that remained of what he ate. “Maybe I should’ve been taken away from him earlier. I wouldn’t be this stupid.” Desmond dumped his dishes, and left, not caring that he tended to leave feathers on the floor. 

It wasn’t that he had been removed from the avians, but Bill hadn’t exactly made it easy, nor had Desmond made it any easier on himself. As he grew up, he had become aware of the struggle between his father and Edward. The flock took care of their own, like they had with Connor before his wings, but Bill was having none of it when it came to Desmond. 

Altair was right, though. They knew he wasn’t a human child, but it didn’t change the control Bill thought he was authorized to have. He stopped on his way out and backtracked, standing apprehensively by the table. 

Altaïr wasn't in a rush to finish his dinner and dessert. When Desmond abruptly left to put his dishes to be cleaned Altaïr was still working on his food. Then he stood nearly at Altaïr's elbow, "Yeah?" he asked, not quite knowing what Desmond wanted.

“I’ve never had to not see him. He had his fingers in everything until... these.” His wings twitched behind him. Desmond hadn’t been able to do what he wanted without first running away, or planning for weeks to avoid bringing it to Bill’s attention. “I know I’m not like them.”

It had just been hard to believe so, and a lot of that was still a large part of who he was. Desmond sat beside him, wings low. The wrist of one was just barely against Altair’s side, the touch driven more by the imprinting than his feelings. Letting it happen made him feel a little better. Safer. If he was honest, the abrupt lack of his father’s control was pretty frightening. Nineteen years of it, and suddenly nothing. The little fissures were there in how he acted and reacted but they were just that, tiny little things.

Desmond had never been struck with the impulse to be near someone as strongly as he had been then.

"You're not," Altaïr agreed and extended one of his sandy wings to pull it around Desmond protectively. He knew Desmond wanted Altaïr, or anyone really, to keep Bill away. Altaïr knew Ed had been keeping Bill occupied, kept giving excuses for why he couldn't see his son while never actually saying Desmond didn't want to see him. You didn't just tell someone like Bill that he wasn't allowed to see his kid without a damn good reason.

Ed was running out of reasons. Probably in the next few days they would and Desmond would have to see his father. "He doesn't control you now," he reminded Desmond.

He nodded slowly, as if admitting it would break something. Of course, it didn’t and he was still fine, but he knew he would’ve been a lot worse off if Altair’s wing was not folded around him. He picked at his nails, and sat silently until Altair finished eating.

When he was done, Desmond followed him closely, one hand flat against Altair’s feathers. Altair would be there like he always was.


	8. He's My Father

Desmond had tried pretty much every excuse he knew of to delay the inevitable meeting with William. Edward hadn’t been as sympathetic as he thought, and Haytham, of course, wasn’t in the slightest. He was above begging Connor to talk to his father on his behalf, and it ultimately left him leaving his room in the morning a day after he found out he absolutely had to make this meeting, covered with the evidence of his and Altair’s sex to see his father for the first time since his wings were cut from his back.

He found he was more irritated and nervous than embarrassed even as he passed his knuckles over a curved bruise from Altair’s teeth. Some had been overlaid with bruises from training with Connor, but many were clearly hickies. Not to mention the fact that he’d stolen a few kisses from Altair, who may or may not have split his lip.

“Dad.” It was his first time out of the Avian quarters as well, and he didn’t want to even move from the door without having another alongside him. Desmond had never noticed it before, but the scent itself was unsettling.

Bill was at once happy to see his son yet disappointed in what he saw. He'd been very clear some weeks ago that until he said Desmond wasn't to go into surgery. He hadn't found out till after the fact and Desmond was already in the avian wing, outside of his sphere of influence, winged and imprinted on Altaïr on top of that. It had taken him till now to beak Edward down to the point of being able to see Desmond since the avian leader kept giving him excuses and bullshit reasons- that they both knew were bullshit- why he couldn't see his son. But Bill always.got what he wanted in the end.

He was glad to see Desmond, he hadn't in nearly a month. It was the longest he'd never seen his boy. But just Christ he already didn't look like his son, winged in down and covered in the near constant bruises the avians were known for from training rough or pecking order. His cheek twitched when he realized not all the bruises were from training. He was going to /pluck/ whoever had done that to his son.

"Hello, son," Bill at least put on a bit of a smile, though somehow it felt like he was meeting a stranger.

He finally let the door close, and the lock was warm under his hand until he drew away from it completely. “What do you want? And I mean what you really want.” Desmond’s wings shuffled and re-folded themselves behind him. He wasn’t trying to sound combative, he simply didn’t want to be pulled around again, because the last time, it hurt like all hell, and it was not healthy.

Desmond thought that at least another member of the flock would be there, but it was Bill, and he was his flesh and blood.

Bill blinked, "You're my son," he said, "I wanted to see you because of that." 

Not that he could do anything anyway. There was a very clear, distinct, dividing line between humans and avians in the compound and the two species did not mingle except to eat and sometimes train together. Most humans didn't like training with avians though since even unwinged they were stronger, faster, and had sharper reflexes than any human. It made humans look weak and fragile in comparison. And if there was one thing is men hated: it was looking weak.

The previous leader of the flock had been even less sympathetic than Ed too. Despite the fact that his own son had been human he wanted nothing to do with him. Bill liked Ed because eventually he broke down and didn't lead the flock so much as stand in front of it and let his own son be more political. He let Bill get away with stuff Rashid never would have, like see his own damn son. He was glad that old buzzard was dead.

"Now come over here, let me see you. I haven't seen you in a month."

Desmond caved, wings low as he moved closer to his father. “What about Mom? Didn’t she want to see me?” He’d grown out of it, but when he was young, if it wasn’t Altair he was tagging behind, it was his mother. It was about a 50-50 chance, whether or not she’d pay attention to him while sorting through technical intelligence, but somehow she wasn’t as bad as Bill.

He tipped his head, realizing that he stood even with his father, and stood straight where he normally would have slouched. A great deal of that was due to the fact that his wings did cause a lot of pain without proper posture. Desmond had learned that pretty early on. Even with his muscles accustomed to moving and supporting the limbs now, a straight spine was one of the most important things.

“Your mother’s been busy,” Bill said, she’d barely noticed when Desmond had moved into the avian wing. She hadn’t let herself get attached to a child that in her eyes didn’t really belong to her; wasn’t human. She still gave Bill dirty looks about it. Bill looked his son over, glad he wasn’t slouching at least, nineteen years and it took wings to make him stand up straight. He ignored the marks, even the ones shaped like teeth. At the very least Desmond’s wings had come in large. He smiled; good, it had worked, there had been a higher percentage of failure than success.

“You’re starting to look less like a kid,” Bill said thoughtfully though he wasn’t quite sure how much he liked that. Already Desmond had been kept away from him and Bill knew he really couldn’t make Desmond do anything without pestering Ed about it. Or earning himself enough good will to want Desmond to do it himself. He was basically back at square one now. Before Desmond hadn’t been avian, he had to listen to Bill, and not just because he was Desmond’s dad, he was human. Now he had to convince Desmond of everything, to help. It would have been so much easier if they’d _listened_ to him about the surgery so he could have been the one Desmond imprinted on.

Desmond frowned, though he had to admit he was never really a priority for his mother. He didn’t really have a response for Bill, shrugging. His wings did most of the gesture.

“There’s just a lot of things I don’t know about myself. Rauf has me training every day, stuff that keeps me busy.” Things he probably could have had a head start on if he hadn’t been only doing what his father wanted him to do. He was glad that Bill wasn’t hounding him about the marks, reaching up to rub his neck. They were still pretty warm under his hand.

“No time for your old man?” Bill feigned being hurt, more he was annoyed that clearly Rauf was getting more activity and obedience out of Desmond than he’d ever given him. He was Desmond’s father and he should be the one getting obedience and such dedication from his son. Not some strange avian Desmond had honestly only known about a month. Bill had tried to keep Desmond as human as possible, because he saw what it looked like when avians suddenly grew their wings and got high and mighty. No one liked it but there wasn’t much they could do. No one knew where the avians came from, but everyone knew that in every way they were better than run of the mill humans and if they ever decided to go the way of their flock it wouldn’t be hard for them to become the world’s dominant species instead of humans.

He just shrugged. “There’re things you couldn’t have taught me.” Desmond’s wings folded back up. He watched him a little warily, gaze flicking over his father’s features. Instinct had been making up for lost time pretty well though.

“Besides, if you ever left your quarters, you’d find me in the mess hall when everyone else is eating.” In fact, he was more on time for meals than he used to be. It was mostly because his wings were still growing, and he was still putting on muscle, which made him hungry on an incredibly regular basis. He’d probably eat less protein and more carbs when he could fly, but for now, it was anything he could get his hands on and Rauf’s supplements.

Bill frowned, “C’mon you know that isn’t fair. I’m a busy guy,” it was true and Desmond knew it. Bill rarely ate with everyone because he was busy running the compound and making sure people, like his disobedient son, were safe and Abstergo couldn’t hurt them. Though really he wondered what Abstergo could do to a flock of avians, he’d never heard of them capturing feral ones. Not one, not even a child. But there was more at stake than just the avian and humans weren’t quite so resilient as them.

“Never have I ever remembered you eating with the rest of us. You know, I couldn’t find Clay or Becca or anything. Did they all move or something?” Or did you tell them not to see me? He left it unsaid, but it was strange that his friends seemed to disappear off the face of the planet. Tracking Lucy down was like hunting rabbits. Or he assumed like hunting rabbits. He’d always heard they were timid and ran at the first sight of anything that wasn’t another rabbit.

Desmond slouched as much as his wings allowed. “I’d like to see them sometimes too, but I don’t want it to be like a covert ops mission in order to do so.”  
“They’re still there,” Bill said, “maybe your flock has been keeping them from you?” he just sort of asked to the air. He wanted his son to be human again. Not strictly human, but not avian. It was why he’d kept them away from the flock. Guys like Connor, or Altair, or even Haytham were nearly alien compared to humans. Haytham and Connor both had powerful avian fathers who kept their sons with the flock and not humans. Altair had always sided with his grandfather, always disdained their species for some trivial reason. Bill had always wanted to make Desmond _more_ human even if he never would be. That included his friends, keeping them around, letting them have some time together, sometimes even turning a blind eye when they did something he didn’t approve of. “I’ve been trying to see you for a month. Edward and Haytham keep giving me excuses.”

Desmond took a half step back. “I didn’t really want to see you,” he said blandly, closing off as quickly as he’d given in. “I thought you wanted to talk about something, this fatherly stuff isn’t the usual for you.” He wasn’t sure who was behind the hassle to meet up with his old friends, but it wasn’t the issue here.

“I can’t just want to see my son?” Bill asked, putting his hand on Desmond’s shoulder.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Bill.” He stressed his father’s name, wings rising and unfolding somewhat when he was touched. “And I fit in, I’m doing what I’m supposed to - for the most part. You always want something else.” Desmond didn’t move away from his hand, but was unsettled by it.

His father didn’t often touch him unless it was to steer him off somewhere or keep him from slinking away. Desmond wasn’t used to it not meaning something negative.

“Maybe I just realized I should be thankful for the things I have while they’re around,” he squeezed Desmond’s shoulder.

Desmond lifted his lip somewhat. “You couldn’t have realized that sooner?” He pulled away from him a little, not quite enough to break from his grip. His wings relaxed somewhat, although he was clearly uneasy, and couldn’t meet Bill’s eyes. “I have training,” he mumbled, the same way he mumbled every excuse he’d ever given him as a kid.

‘I fell asleep,’ or ‘I forgot, Dad.’ His shoulders even rose the way they always had, the only differences now being his age and the fact that his wings copied every motion his shoulders made.

Bill’s lips went thin and he knew he was done, for now at least.”Well I’m just glad you found something that makes you want to do something,” he knew it was a low blow but he wasn’t below it in the slightest. “You can come see me whenever you want,” he patted Desmond’s shoulder before taking his hand away.

Desmond pulled himself away and more or less fled back into the avian quarters. He knew Bill wanted something - he always wanted something from him. He just had no idea what it was. Honestly, Desmond thought he was pretty much useless for his father.

The limp wormed its way back into his stride and he went through his training with Rauf and Connor with a little less enthusiasm than usual. It bugged him. The entire time he spoke with his dad, it just bugged him. He was glad to be let off a little easy, and ate his lunch slowly when he was allowed to leave.

He decided it wasn’t worth bothering Altair with impulsive, hardly thought out worries, and spent the rest of his afternoon keeping up his wings. Flock preening was tomorrow, which meant no one would really be doing anything other than that, and it filled the entire evening block after dinner. Desmond just let it rest in his mind and roused enough to eat dinner. He’d catch Altair after preening.

\--

Of course, it was always easier said than done, and he ended up leaving a mess of feathers in Ed’s room to catch up with him. “Altair.” An entire day to mull over it, and Desmond still had nothing other than a bad feeling. He had no real idea or reason for it, just a feeling. He didn’t like it anymore than the way it upset him, so he was doing what Altair berated him for not doing earlier: saying something. “Can I go with you? I want to talk about... something.”

Altair was always relieved when someone else got their fingers in his feathers and picked out all the feathers or pieces of grit he physically couldn’t reach because of their size. Malik was the best at it, but he wasn’t averse to other people doing it either. He left shortly after Malik did, after shaking his wings a bit to get out any of the last loose feathers that might have remained. When Desmond called him from his place where he was on the door he looked back at him. “Sure,” he said and then beckoned with one wing as he slipped out of Ed’s room, an invitation for Desmond to follow.

Desmond was quiet for the majority of the walk to Altair’s room, only speaking up at the door. “It’s about... my dad.” He pulled in a breath. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to think about, but he remembered pretty clearly the last time he’d been in his room. His wings pulled close, and he turned himself back to the thoughts that troubled him.

Altair looked at Desmond and then down the hall where Ed’s room was, the closest to the door that led to the rest of the compound; and the humans. “Inside,” he said, opening his door. He followed Desmond in and once the door was closed said: “What about Bill?”

“I don’t know, it feels like he wants something from me.” Desmond had picked up a place at the edge of Altair’s bed rather than his spot on the floor. “He didn’t mention anything about it but... he when we talked, he was never that fatherly.” He cast an irritated glare at the floor, curling his toes. “And my mom didn’t even care to show up. I mean, I knew she never cared, but at least she doesn’t care?”

He wasn’t sure if that made any sense, and shook his head a little. A part of him wanted to have someone he was actually a relative of to care, even if they were human. If Bill had done anything for him, it was instill a deep seated feeling for those he grew up with, and other than Connor, they were all human.

“He’s your father,” Altair said, standing in front of Desmond, wings relaxed, but arms folded across his chest, “he always wants something. Important men always want something from their children,” like his grandfather had wanted from Umar, who’d been nothing in his eyes; human, and like Umar was to him. “Your father more than most though it seems,” not that it wasn’t true. Bill was constantly trying to meddle in flock affairs.

Desmond shifted a little, finding his blunt, kind of dirty fingernails incredibly interesting as he continued. “He said something that put me off, about my friends, and how I haven’t been able to see them having something to do with... Ed and Haytham.” His wings were curved around his shoulders rather than folded at his back. “I thought it was Bill’s fault I couldn’t find any of them to hang out with, but... I don’t know.”

“Avians and humans are separate,” Altair said, “we always have been, since prehistory. Our species do not easily mingle except usually to have children if needed. I doubt the Kenways have kept them from you so much that they have avoided you. Humans are afraid of us, like they have some predisposed attitude to fear us, as much as they want to be near us. If you want to know you’ll have to ask the Kenways, because other than them doing what they’ve always done I don’t have an answer.”

“Lucy said she wouldn’t be like that,” He looked up at him. “They all knew, I mean... Shaun and Dan were a little weird about it, but Clay and Becca...” Desmond rubbed his face, ending with his fingers laced at the back of his head. “I don’t know anymore. Connor and I are good friends, better since we’re both like this now, but... I don’t want to lose my other friends just because of... of a stupid stigma.”

It had been fine before his wings, everything had been fine. They got thrown into the mix, and he became, undeniably, an avian, and a lot of things went to shit. It felt like everything had, but Desmond knew that wasn’t entirely true. “I get that I’m an avian, and I have always been, I get that, but who decided I’m suddenly not the same Desmond that they’re friends with?”

“You did,” Altair said. “I’ve always been the same. Unlike you though I never had any attachments to humans. I have always been avian, even before my wings came in. You were trying to be both, but you aren’t. Things change Desmond, even if you don’t like it and you can’t always stop it. It isn’t like you can go back to who you were, your friends probably know that. They know you’re not the Desmond they knew. You’re different,” after all Altair had watched Desmond change before his eyes. In less than a month he’d gone from fit, if slightly oddly muscled, human to an avian who was going to have back muscles like a weightlifter and muscled legs to support the impact of landing. Desmond was as close to feral as Altair had ever seen someone, with bird noises and chirps. Altair couldn’t remember doing that himself, maybe Malik had but he couldn’t remember. The fact though was that Desmond had changed, and he wasn’t the same Desmond Miles who’d been friends with humans.

His feathers puffed out and actually bristled. Desmond knew Altair was right, and that was what made him angry. That he knew himself. “I hate them. I hate my wings, but losing them would kill me, and I hate that.” He really only hated them at times like these, but it didn’t change that there were points where he really believed he would have been better off without them.

Desmond’s emotions were much clearer through his wings than his face, and he couldn’t hide that. He didn’t want to believe that he was that different, because deep down, it was a drastic change that happened all too quickly. The fear showed just as clearly in his wings as his anger appeared. He thought it was petty and absolutely unfair, and he had no way of controlling it.

“Oh Des,” Altair sighed and stepped closer to him, his wings came up and wrapped around him, comforting him like he knew they did. Then he put his hands on Desmond’s shoulders, pushing through recently cleaned feather and pulled him closer, so Desmond’s head rested against the lower part of his chest. “Don’t hate them,” he said softly and ran the fingers of his scarred hand through Desmond’s hair, much like he had while helping some of the others with Desmond’s forever messy wings.

He all but clung to the other avian, fingers fitting into the lines of muscle down Altair’s back. Desmond was fine with getting pressed up against him, it meant he didn’t have to try that hard not to look like he wanted to break down and cry. “But I feel like it sometimes.”

The wings around him and fingers in his hair did wonders, and the tense set of his shoulders melted while a soft sighing kind of sound repeated itself a few times before he regained control of his breathing.

“They’re a wonder,” Altair told him, because he himself believed this. He’d been born wishing he could fly, like all humans did. But unlike humans one day he’d be able to. “We are wonders of evolution,” an evolution no one could really... explain. Avians had appeared in the fossil record suddenly and with little warning. It was like at some point in human evolution there weren’t avians, and then all at once; there they were. “You shouldn’t hate that,” he continued to card his fingers through Desmond’s hair, a comforting hand on his upper back where neck met spine, and his wings pressed in close around him. Altair might not have been the best person to imprint on, but he did his best. And at the very least he could do this.

Desmond tipped his head back to look up at him, mostly to force the hand that was combing through his short hair to cradle his skull. He might have felt a little embarrassed in any other situation when his next sighing exhale was chased by cooing.

“I... don’t, really,” he mumbled after a while, almost too lazy to tip his head forward to look away. In pretty much one minute’s time, he’d been calmed down and it hadn’t taken much. His fingers relaxed, nails no longer digging quite so hard into Altair’s back. Desmond didn’t really want to ask Altair to let him go, either, even when it became less about calming down and more about just being there.

Altair chuckled a little, “Doesn’t mean you aren’t,” he said, kneading the back of Desmond’s neck a little. “We’re made to be wonders,” he smirked, that was how he thought of it anyway. Even the feral avians were respected and for the most part left alone, with massive wing spans for flying. He’d heard they had claws, or talons, though most people stayed away from them since as the name feral implied, they were wild and either attacked anything that came near, or just flew away. But they were amazing. “Got it?” he asked him.

It was strange, Altair was giving words to the feelings he got from the artifacts, without ever having heard them. Desmond offered a smile and nodded. “Got it,” he replied, even though he leaned against Altair’s chest again, eyes closed.

So he was milking it for what it was. Desmond had no way of knowing when he could enjoy Altair being so gentle with him. His hands ended up somewhere around the lower half of Altair’s back before he finally kept them to himself.

“Good,” Altair said and honestly he was just glad to have helped at all. Desmond could be a finicky thing when it came to asking for help or looking for someone to comfort him. Though really Altair didn’t blame him, not like he got a lot of practice with either of those things with Bill. He was just sort of expected to be okay at all times. Altair wasn’t a really touchy feely guy, that was Rauf of Yusuf’s departments, but he was the imprintee, he had to deal with it and would. He was glad he hadn’t fucked it up.

He wrung his hands in his lap. “Can I... get a kiss before I go?” Desmond asked with a nervous, little smile, wings folded properly behind him. He wasn’t going to push his luck, and he wasn’t going to lie, he didn’t really want anything more than that. It reminded him of when he was younger, and stole little kid’s kisses from him, pecks on the cheek before running off laughing. It was a stupid, short-lived habit that died before he was seven, and he began seeking attention in other ways.

Altair didn’t sigh. He was close to doing so, but didn’t. He tried really hard to avoid this since Altair didn’t really... do emotional attachment. He wasn’t very good at it and found the back and forth tiresome. He knew Desmond was attached, knew he was still emotionally invested. Altair just didn’t want to hand him a knife and say not to stab himself with it. Or maybe not eat candy when handed to him was a better analogy, though Desmond would be the one out of any of them to stab himself on accident.

“Okay,” Altair said, “but that’s it,” he added, a bit stern. When Desmond nodded he leaned down, cantered Desmond’s head just so, his hand still on the back of his neck, and kissed him.

Desmond pressed into the kiss, wings spreading slightly behind him. He opened his mouth, licking Altair’s bottom lip before sinking back against his hand. His breath was still slow, and he wasn’t going to ask for more even though it was pretty clear he wasn’t averse to it. 

Altair ran his fingers through Desmond’s hair once, twice, and then pulled his mouth away, even if some part of him begged to suck his lower lip, just to see it become redden. He’d given a kiss but that was all he was giving. “There you go,” Altair said softly and took his hands off Desmond, pulling his wings back behind him. “You should go to your room,” before he made it even harder for Desmond to walk.

He stood up, his own wings shuffling and folding. “I might be in a compromising position if you feel like showing up after lunch tomorrow,” Desmond offered, voice low. He made his exit more like an escape before he got too embarrassed with the proposition. Sure, he was a little aroused now, but it was late, and he knew that the moment he got to his bed, exhaustion would win out over his teenage dick. It just meant he was going to need something else later.

Altair physically could not stop his eyes from following Desmond as he left the room. It was like they were drawn to his back by a magnet. Then the door closed, shutting Altair off from Desmond and leaving Altair with just the reminder of Desmond’s scent and the words he’d said.

Shit.


	9. Gentle Company

The day, simply put, was uneventful. Desmond ate breakfast, then trained with Connor. It was more rough-housing than an actual sparring match. Rauf wasn’t very amused, but the boys were pretty pleased with themselves. There had been a little blood between the two of them, but the worst was the amount of dust they kicked up. Desmond spent a good fifteen minutes into his lunchtime flapping his wings and preening to dislodge most of it, although he felt like a dust bath was probably better for them than a wet shower.

His skin on the other hand... Desmond rinsed off what he could with the hose, enjoying the cold water. He ate lunch more or less wet, and then trekked back to his room to wash up properly without getting any feathers wet except for those down his back. 

Desmond wasn’t exactly sure what he would do when Altair showed up, nor really how long to wait. He ended up spending a long time working himself up until he could slick himself. The first issue was getting comfortable, which was becoming more and more of an issue while his wings continued to grow. He settled for leaning against the headboard with a pillow wedged behind them, even though they were half unfolded around him. Never one for patience, he gave in to drawing lazy circles around the head of his still mostly flaccid cock with not much other than spit. It came with a reminder to figure out where to get his hands on some lube, although it wasn’t too bad with how careful he was being.

Altair honestly wondered what the hell he was doing here. Oh right because he’d told Malik what Desmond said; because honestly there wasn’t a damn thing Malik didn’t know about him he didn’t know why he was that man’s friend still. Malik had talk Altair in a circle- something he was way too good at doing (jerk)- until Altair had admitted himself that he kinda liked the idea. He and Malik didn’t fuck anymore, it was kinda boring since they’d done it so much when they were younger and there was nothing there other than sex drive and friendly feelings. It was predictable and thus boring and thus neither of them were interested in, even if Altair sometimes didn’t mind safe, predictable, sex.

So after lunch Altair found himself at Desmond’s door. It had taken a while for Malik to make Altair say to himself he was interested despite wanting to keep the kid at arm’s length. Malik had just given him a look he didn’t really understand and berated Altair’s stupidity. That was normal though, he thought nothing of it.

Altair made a face at the door and hesitated knocking. He knew Desmond was in there, he was either in his room, in Connor’s room, or his own room when Rauf wasn’t training him. Connor was with his mom and dad and Desmond didn’t have any training after lunch, and obviously he wasn’t in Altair’s room. Meaning he could only be here. With a sigh like he was pained to do so Altair knocked on the door lightly.

“Hi, Alty.” The way he said it meant he could come in if he was actually planning on doing so. Desmond had taken a moment to gather himself enough to speak and look over at the door. It had been more or less a guess, but no one came to Desmond’s door, and Connor always just came in through the bathroom.

His attention slid back to his dick, and he dragged a line of precum along the side, pulling in a sharp breath.

Altair waited a few seconds. That was apparently the only invitation he was going to get meaning Desmond was already... oh what was the word he’d used again? Right; in a compromising position. Well, he wasn’t going to wuss out now.

Altair checked behind him before opening the door a little and swallowed. Ah shit, he was in so much shit. Desmond was on his bed, naked, touching himself. “Well,” Altair’s voice was dry, “this is a compromising position,” he said slowly.

Desmond’s fingers curled around the base, watching himself twitch. Altair’s voice had pretty much just gone straight to his cock, no two ways about it. “I said I might be,” he responded, trying not to mumble. He glanced up at him, letting go to pump himself slowly, pulling and pushing his foreskin until he just held it back, hips jerking into his fist. “... ‘Nd I didn’t really think about... what I’d do.”

Altair felt like he was doing something wrong. He was pretty sure this was not what you were supposed to do to the avian who’d imprinted on you. But he just couldn’t look away. He slipped into Desmond’s room fully, closing the door behind him and just stood there, by the door, watching. “When do you ever have a plan in the first place?” like he was one to talk. He never had a plan. Fuck he was winging it right now. Speaking of wings his kept twitching and flicked back and forth against his back, unable to remain still.

When Desmond’s hand moved again so did he. It was like he floated to the bed, his big wings unfurling, and maybe he flapped them a little. They wouldn’t stay the fuck still so he just let them. In any case he made it to the bed in about three seconds and promptly put himself between Desmond’s legs without asking, like he had every right to be there. And he did. Desmond wanted him there, wanted Altair to see him doing this. He grabbed both of Desmond’s wrists and pinned them to the elbows of his wings and rolled his hips forward against Desmond’s naked cock, knowing the abrasiveness of his jeans must be both rough and pleasurable. He squeezed Desmond’s wrists as he moved.

Desmond lost pretty much everything that was on his mind, keening softly as his breath decided to get the fuck out of dodge. The half grin that had been on his face was more of a surprised kind of ‘o’ that ended up giving way to more sounds as he pushed himself against Altair’s jeans. Before he became overly sensitive, it was pretty damn good. Desmond didn’t mind the roughness much at all.

He didn’t really care that he was probably leaving precum on the denim, but Altair had practically invited himself to it, and it was the only movement he had with his hands pinned like that. Which was really fucking hot. 

“Don’t move your hands,” Altair said and was glad his voice wasn’t shaking. He felt like he was shaking, just trembling without control, even though no part of him was actually doing so. He released Desmond’s wrists, his wings fanning out a bit, and reached down to open his jeans and push his briefs down. Once they were out of the way Altair put one of his hands back around Desmond’s wrist, the other he used to press down on Desmond’s hip, firmly, to keep him still. Altair rocked his hips forward so he rubbed up against Desmond and he was surprised he was actually sort of hard already. Funny that.

A shiver raced through Desmond. He wanted to move, and his fingers twitched, but even without Altair pinning both wrists, he managed to keep still. “Alty...” And that was pretty much the extent of his complaining, voice drawn until he felt Altair’s length up alongside his.

His wings trembled, and he tried to push his hips up, in a love-hate relationship with the hand resolutely holding him down. “I never even... said you could touch me.” Desmond was smiling though, and probably would hook his legs around Altair if he pulled away now.

Altair gave him a look and leaned in close to Desmond’s face, “If you didn’t want me to touch you or fuck you you should have kept your mouth shut,” he said in a low tone and squeezed Desmond’s wrist firmly. His tongue flicked out and caught Desmond’s lower lip and he did what madness had wanted him to do yesterday and sucked it into his mouth. He pulled Desmond’s lower lip between his teeth before smoothing his mouth over the rest of Desmond’s lips. He felt his wings fluff up a bit behind then and stubbornly tried to make them lay flat again with some, but not complete, success.

He pressed his tongue into Desmond’s mouth possessively and rocked his hips forward again, against him. The hand on Desmond’s hip shifted from pushing him down to curl around the both of their cocks to help keep them together.

Desmond’s whining was mostly just the sound of a bird. He opened his mouth easily for Altair, pushing his tongue against the other’s while the sounds died in his throat. It was right about then that he knew he was probably going to get fucked again, and found that he didn’t really mind or even care. He’d gotten to Altair this badly, and he was honestly a little proud of that.

He spread his legs somewhat, bucking into Altair’s hand and hip. God, he was making a right mess, and Altair was just... using it to slick them both up, and holy shit, it was kind of really hot. Or that was Altair’s Goddamn dick pressed underneath his own, which was actually hot, as in a firm heat that wasn’t going anywhere. Desmond would bite that tongue that was busy owning his mouth if it did, and curiously scraped his teeth against the muscle before sucking on it gently.

Not quite a small part of Altair was nagging him about this. That even though he’d told himself it was just one time; it wasn’t. But it also didn’t _mean_ anything. Altair was just in it to enjoy himself, and to enjoy an incredibly willing, limber, and actively participating party. Maybe because it was ‘exciting’ and new that Altair had come to the door today. As of yet the humans didn’t know Altair had been the one to mark Desmond, though the entire flock knew, they couldn’t not know, meaning Bill didn’t know. He wanted to see how much he could get away with before the human’s leader found out and threw a shit storm about it.

At the very least that explanation (excuse) was enough for the nagging part which was satisfied by his reasons. It was sort of like having a new toy, and Altair just wanted to play with it after all. Now he could focus on how his hips moved against Desmond’s, his head of his cock appearing and disappearing in the circle of his fist, pushing against Desmond’s slickly. He pulled his mouth away, breathing a bit harder from moving, to look down between them and watch them. Desmond was making a right mess of his hand but he wasn’t the only one leaking and wanting release.

He moaned for the loss of Altair’s tongue and mouth, lips definitely kiss bruised. Desmond shuddered, feathers fluffing and rustling. He couldn’t press himself against Altair enough, feeling the familiar, tight knot at the base of his spine. Desmond could really only hope that he was asking and pleading in English, fumbling over his words. A little longer, or right now, he couldn’t quite make up his mind, and begged for both, “Please, Alty... not yet, I- I don’t- I need-” His hips jerked and rolled up against Altair’s. “Let me come, please...!” 

Altair stopped moving his hips and took his hand away, Desmond looked like he was about to fall apart. Altair didn’t exactly blame him since he was nineteen and having sex. Nineteen year olds fell apart like nothing. He pressed a kiss against Desmond’s lips and then started to make his way slowly down Desmond’s chest, giving him time to calm down, catch his breath, get in control of himself again even though he whined about it, wanting Altair to touch him again.

He shifted on the bed and heard Desmond’s breath catch as Altair laid down between his legs and very neatly swallowed Desmond’s cock. Unlike Desmond Altair had a lot of practice doing this and had learned he had no gag reflex. He sucked on the tip of Desmond’s cock, using his hand to pull back the foreskin to reveal the full helmet of his quivering cock. Then like it was no big deal, cause it was, Altair pushed his head down all the way until his lips pressed against the skin of his groin. Desmond’s pubic hair brushed against his nose and chin and Altair just swallowed before looking up, to see what he’d done.

His complaints died on his lips, along with his breath. “Ah, fuck- fuck!” Desmond swore, unable to look away as his dick disappeared into Altair’s mouth. He had propped himself up to see better, and really only ended up dropping his head back with a long, shaky keening when Altair went and fucking swallowed.

Desmond bucked, hips beyond his control, into the heat of his throat even though there wasn’t much farther he could go. His toes curled, and he couldn’t stop himself from coming early- honestly. One swallow... To be fair, he’d never been sucked off like this, if at all, and Altair was damn good at what he did. 

He whimpered, still twitching, and wished he hadn’t been such a fucking virgin. Desmond was making the half-word sounds again, wings drawn up beside him.

Altaïr started when Desmond came, though he really should have expected it. Desmond was a virgin and from the last time he should have known he wouldn't have lasted. He swallowed again since there was nothing else he could do since Desmond's cock was down his throat. He couldn't spit even if he wanted to. At the very least he didn't choke or cough.

He sat up, pulling his mouth off Desmond's slowly. Desmond was panting and spent and looked so blissed out. Altaïr licked his lips looking at him. "Feel good?" he sort of teased and squeezed his thigh before attaching his mouth to Desmond's neck, over one of the few days old hickey there and sucking it back into redness. He enjoyed Desmond's whimpering.

He groaned, exposing his throat. “Y-yeah... sorry...” Desmond caught his breath, which was a little bit of a chore with Altair’s mouth on his neck. “I didn’t...” His wings folded, nudging into Altair’s. “I didn’t mean to uh... you know.” He found it pretty embarrassing.

Desmond shuddered, wings trembling. He was coming down pretty quickly from that high, though he was still warm.

"You didn't mean to come in my mouth?" Altaïr asked with a savage grin against Desmond's neck. He mouthed at Desmond's skin and then up to he ear, sucking on his ear lobe. "It's okay," not like he'd tasted it with Desmond down his throat. He nuzzled against Desmond's neck delightfully inhaling his hair. The fledgling smell was still there, sharply, and it made protective and possessive parts of him that he didn't normally have or deal with. With Connor it was more distant, since Haytham kept a close eye on his son. It wasn't like that with Desmond. Desmond was for him to look after and he would do so desperately.

He kissed Desmond behind the ear gently. He was just waiting for Desmond to calm down some, get his breath back. He wanted to put the kid on his stomach and do bad things to him, but Desmond didn't have anything he needed for that in his room. It was all in Altaïr's room. He'd settle for some head. Settle because Desmond was still not so great at it.

He groaned under Altair’s mouth, though most of the sounds were the more bird-like ones which were becoming something of a usual occurrence. Desmond hid his face against Altair’s shoulder, and pressed half kisses there. “It’s not, ‘cuz I’m not nearly good enough.” He left the question of whether Altair was going to make him return the favor unasked, though it hung between them.

Desmond’s breath had steadied as much as it would, what with Altair’s lips and tongue on his skin. His throat still seized up a bit from time to time.

Altair hummed a little, a high note like it belonged on a song. “Well,” he said softly, “we can work on that,” and he licked the cusp of Desmond’s ear. That he was fully into since like any dude he liked getting his dick sucked, even if they weren’t super good at it. It was still Desmond’s mouth on his cock and that was good.

He pulled himself off Desmond and sat back, trailing his hands down his chest and his thighs till he was sitting on his calves, knees apart. His cock hung out of his briefs obscenely, curving up towards his groin. He reached down to grab himself by the base. When Desmond didn’t move, just looking at him he said; “It isn’t going to suck itself.” He grinned at Desmond and ran his hand up to the head and then down, his cock twitched, wanting more attention.

He sat up slowly, watching Altair’s hands. When he heard him speak, his gaze snapped to his face briefly before going back to the hands on that throbbing cock. The sound out of his mouth was more of a strangled trilling, as if his throat couldn’t decide on a human moan or a bird’s cry.   
Desmond sank down between Altair’s knees, one hand on his thigh, the other by his hip. His wings were fanned out, baring his back. Altair didn’t need to tell him twice, and he pressed his lips against the curve of his dick, mouth partially open while he trailed up to the head peeking from the slightly drawn back foreskin. There was still a hesitance to his movements, and he eased that by going somewhat slowly anyway.

He pushed his tongue against the head of Altair’s erect cock, sliding it over the flare, circling the entirety of the tip. Desmond did it again when he closed his lips over it, still unsure whether or not he liked the bitter taste of precum. None of the avians probably had anything less than bitter or salty, simply because their diets focused on protein and carbohydrates. Apparently, it didn’t prevent Desmond from sucking Altair’s dick again.

Altair sighed in content as Desmond sucked on the head and he put his hand on the back of Desmond’s neck. He was... okay with Desmond going slow, getting used to it. It wasn’t exactly a natural thing to do, but Altair had some ideas about what he wanted to do while he was down there. He smoothed the thumb of his other hand across Desmond’s cheek and moved his hips just a little, not too forcefully though he wanted to, and pushed his cock further into Desmond’s mouth, to the back of his throat.

Desmond felt himself tense up, nearly flinching, and Altair hadn’t even moved that much. Then again, the mouth and tongue were the body’s most sensitive places, everything seemed rather large. He got the message though, and was thankfully much more mindful of his teeth. He hadn’t gagged like he was expecting to, even when he took him even further, realizing that what he felt in his throat was the fucking head of Altair’s cock, and holy shit that was kind of actually hotter than he thought it would be.

At a loss, he whined, throat working almost soundlessly. The struggle became less worrying about gagging and more keeping his jaw wide enough. Desmond had always been the worst at the dentist.

Altair’s brows went up a bit. He honestly hadn’t been expecting Desmond to be so responsive to that. He wondered how far he could push it before he complained. Something told him quite a lot. He smirked and ran his thumb across Desmond’s cheek again. “Just relax,” he said gently, his voice low and rough. “And try not to gag,” he added cause that was just... gross. Up there with spit for lube.

He tightened his grip on the back of Desmond’s neck, kneading it with his fingers there and in his hair. He felt Desmond swallow a little but kept his mouth open and Altair knew Desmond guessed what he was going to do. Altair canted his hips and pushed forward, further into Desmond’s mouth. Altair groaned, his eyes lidding as he looked down at Desmond, his cock vanishing into his mouth and down his throat. He didn’t go all the way in, don’t push it too much, before pulling back and nearly out.

Somewhere along the way, Desmond’s eyes had slid closed. He’d figured out rather quickly how to keep his throat open enough to let him push and pull. He leaned back against Altair’s hand, and pretty soon, was doing half of the work himself. His moans were muffled, but nonetheless clear.

He liked that Altair was being careful, but with the next roll of Altair’s hips, Desmond moved to meet him, swallowing again as he did so.

Desmond’s eagerness to meet Altair as he pushed his hips forward was all Altair really needed to know. He started moving his hips regularly but not roughly. He’d fuck Desmond’s mouth roughly at some other time. Right now he just wanted the tight heat of Desmond’s mouth around him and groaned, eyes closing, pushing firmly into his mouth until Desmond’s nose was pushed against the skin of his groin. He still had his hand on the back of Desmond’s head and kept him there for a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of his mouth and throat working around his cock. Then he pulled out, rather gently since deepthroating could be a bit rough on the throat if you weren’t ready for it, like Altair had just sprung it on him.

Altair ran his hands through Desmond’s hair as he pulled his cock out of Desmond’s mouth so he could breathe after that. The kid didn’t brush his fucking hair and he at least didn’t have a real excuse for why it was so messy since he couldn’t fly yet, and Altair wasn’t helping in the slightest. He pressed his cock against Desmond’s face as the kid caught his breath. He allowed one of his hands to trace the curve of Desmond’s jaw and cheek and he grinned at how flushed Desmond was and he hadn’t missed all his soft moans. “You like that?” Altair asked with a smirk that would probably get him punched in the face just about any other time.

His mouth didn’t exactly close when Altair pulled away. He looked up at Altair, vaguely confused. He thought he’d been doing fine. Desmond blinked, then let his eyes lid halfway, nodding. He did like it, there wasn’t really anything else to say.

Desmond turned toward the cock leaving a mess of spit and precum on his cheek, putting a gently sucking kiss on the side. “Nn... what ‘re you gonna do?” he asked, still a little breathless as he held Altair against his mouth. It would have been easy to slip his lips back over him, and keep it cleaner. His gaze flicked up to Altair’s, blown out, dark, and tinged with flecks of gold. He dragged a path with his tongue and lips down the length of him to the base, and the only word to describe what he did was nuzzle into his groin.

He was clearly far from caring what he looked like, practically burying his face in Altair’s hip, but he was enjoying himself. Enjoying that Altair was enjoying it.

Altair made a noise in the back of his throat he didn’t know he could even make. Desmond was rubbing off on him good christ he’d just fucking warbled. He was so caught off guard by it that he stopped and sort of gave himself a weird look. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that. He looked down at Desmond again and realized he looked really happy to be right where he was pressed up against Altair’s skin. He honestly didn’t know Desmond was such a... well... slut.

He definitely liked it though.

“You’d like me to do something dirty wouldn’t you?” Altair asked with a little grin, one hand in Desmond’s hand, the other on Desmond’s chin making him look up and meet Altair’s amber eyes.

His ears pretty much pricked up when Altair made that warble in the back of his throat, and he looked up when Altair tipped his head back, a wry grin of his own curling his lips. Would he ever want Altair to do something particularly dirty to him? Nothing short of basically always. Desmond settled with a drawn out ‘yes,’ the ‘s’ hanging between his teeth. 

Altair snorted, yeah he should have guessed that. He was still honestly surprised how sexualized Desmond was, and how he seemed to be doing his level best to have Altair ruin him. “How about,” Altair said slowly and licked his upper lip, “I fuck that little mouth of yours and come all over your face?”

"You actually gonna take care of me afterwards?" He asked, though he found the suggestion more than satisfactory. At least, it sounded good to his dick, and that kind of had priority at the moment. 

Desmond reached up to grab Altaïr loosely, pumping him lazily before his fingers curled against his balls, rolling them slowly between his fingers like he treated his own. He stopped and just cupped them, heavy and warm in his hand. His thumb rested alongside the base of Altair's cock, idly stroking where the straining organ met his groin. 

Altair scoffed, “I did last time,” he said, giving Desmond a look. Though he had kinda... forgotten about after care that first time. Usually he and Malik let each other deal with themselves, though they both just showered afterwards anyway there wasn’t much clean up. Desmond hadn’t been able to clean himself up after Altair was done with him and he’d been the fuck asleep when Altair had basically cleaned him out.

He grabbed his dick, pushing Desmond’s fingers away and pressed it against Desmond’s lips. Desmond opened his mouth and Altair pushed in with a groan. That felt good. He didn’t go all the way in this time, deepthroating could fuck with your throat if you weren’t careful. Instead he just barely touched the crown of his cock to the back of Desmond’s mouth. His eyes lidded as his hips moved and he held onto the back of Desmond’s neck to keep him from moving while he easily fucked his mouth.

Unable to do much more than take whatever Altair gave him, Desmond kept his mouth open and sucked a breath in through his nose to hold. His hand slipped from his hip, and pressed into the bed to keep him up. The other was somewhere underneath him.  
It was somehow soft and slow and weirdly gentle, just Altair rolling his hips and fucking his face like he had all the time in the world. A lot of things that had to do with sex and Altair were ‘weirdly gentle,’ and this was mostly the hand at the base of his skull, fingers gripping enough to keep him still, but not enough to hurt. Desmond wouldn’t have minded either way.

Altair kept a steady rhythm against Desmond’s mouth. Much better than Desmond trying and failing to give a blow job really. He just sat back and let Altair thrust into his mouth. He moaned between his labored breaths and he was starting to get close. He squeezed the back of Desmond’s hair, not too hard though and then let go. He pushed in once more before pulling out, watching Desmond’s lips glide over the head of his cock.

He quickly took himself in hand and it took him only a few seconds to finish. He groaned loudly as he did so, his head tipping back a bit, eyes closing blissfully. Short of breath he looked down at Desmond and the mess he’d made. Just like he’d said he’d come all over Desmond’s face, across his cheek mainly and part of his nose. “You look good like that,” Altair panted softly and pressed the head of his cock against Desmond’s cheek and then dragged over to his lips and pushed the helmet into Desmond’s mouth again. He made another warble noise and christ _that needed to stop_. His wings fanned out in delight though.

He jerked back against Altair’s hand, flinching when the cum painted messily over his cheek. Desmond let out his breath as more of a shuddering little whimper than an exhale. Unable to smirk at Altair’s warbling, he sufficed to echo it around the head that was pushed into his mouth. 

Desmond slid his tongue against it, licking and sucking whatever hadn’t made quality time with the side of his face. He wasn’t that bad at the head part of giving head. His lips came away with a slick sound. The only evidence of his second orgasm was a hitching moan and cum across his fingers. It wasn’t nearly as much as what he’d lost at the back of Altair’s throat earlier.

With a sigh Altair sat back heavily on his calves, his cock sliding out of Desmond’s mouth. He rubbed it a bit more, his hips twitching a little as he did so even as he started to go limp slowly. He looked at Desmond, cum still across his cheek and starting to dribble down to his chin.

Altair reached out to gently hold Desmond’s chin, the kid’s blown eyes mirroring his own. “So how’d you like that?” he asked with a self satisfied grin and ran his thumb across Desmond’s cheek, dragging it towards Desmond’s mouth and pressing his thumb past his lips for Desmond to suck on. He figured if Desmond seemed to like to suck on things so much he could keep doing that on Altair’s thumb.

“Ahnn.”

He’d meant to actually respond, but there was a thumb in his mouth, and he just let it turn into a soft hum. Desmond pulled back when he started to smile, and sat back after delivering a kiss to the spit slicked finger. By then, it was kind of this uncontrollable, overly sated grin.  
Desmond was beginning to feel a little gross with the drying ejaculate on his face. For him, the amount of time it was actually hot corresponded with the end of his post orgasm high, which wasn’t spectacularly long.

Altair was still feeling blissed out and happy, and unlike Desmond was still pretty clean. Desmond, once again, was covered in cum, this time both his and Altair’s. Altair smirked, “Go clean your face off, kid,” Altair said and pulled his briefs back up and zipped up his jeans.

He made a face at Altair. “So much for taking care of me,” Desmond was smiling a bit, and let himself into the bathroom to wash his face, hands and torso. He returned still wet, and found his discarded towel to dry himself off. “You gonna at least clean a little before tucking all that back in?”

Oh yeah, his jaw was pretty sore. Moderately, at least. Desmond threw himself back over the bed, wings folded, and glad that they hadn’t made really any mess at all. He shimmied up a bit and dropped himself by Altair, arms hooking around his hips before he could leave. “Whatever. I liked that.”

“Well that was obvious,” Altair said, looking down at him. “And it’s just spit, it’ll come off when I shower tonight,” he shrugged. “And you might wanna be careful with that face of yours or it might just end up in my pants again,” because while Altair wasn’t usually a guy who had two orgasms back to back like that he knew he could. And Desmond’s mouth felt good, if he let Altair use it, which he seemed all too willing to do the same way he had his ass. He traced the curve of Desmond’s jaw with his finger with a smirk.

Desmond shrugged with his wings, the wrist of one pushing up against Altair’s. “I don’t think I’d mind.” With his head kind of in Altair’s lap, his neck was craned a bit, and it was a little uncomfortable. He tipped his head so his cheek was on his thigh, giving himself a moment to just exist there.

He pushed himself up and got to his knees to steal a kiss from Altair, lips at the corner of his mouth.

Altair nearly rolled his eyes when Desmond did that. Honestly he’d just had his mouth on Altair’s dick and now he was acting all shy and virginal about kisses. He turned his head towards Desmond and laid claim on his mouth with his own, his tongue running along his lower lip, tasting him, and sort of beckoning him. He looped one arm around Desmond’s waist, the other cupped his jaw brightly.

It had honestly been more like he was asking for one. When Altair’s tongue slid against his lip, Desmond responded by pushing for his mouth. Desmond ended up just sinking into the languid rhythm of the kiss, head canted to the side to fit just that much better against him.

He wouldn’t let Altair leave without lips that looked at least as kiss-swollen as his own. To top it off, Desmond drew back with Altair’s bottom lip caught gently between his teeth. His tongue flicked out for that scar on his upper lip when he let go, pretty damn pleased with himself.

Altair felt himself grin, just a little, and returned the light nips on his lower lip. He licked his way into Desmond’s mouth after Desmond licked his scar and he was pretty sure Desmond didn’t know Altair had a thing for that. Thing as in; he liked it when people did that.

Still kissing him he reached down to move Desmond’s legs around so it wouldn’t be too awkward or uncomfortable when Altair leaned forward and pushed Desmond back. He half laid on Desmond, kissing him still, and held himself just above the fledgeling on his elbows. He tugged on Desmond’s lower lip before his tongue met flush against Desmond’s kissing him again deeply.

Desmond’s trilling was higher in pitch than Altair’s warble, and it lasted alot longer as well, still vibrating deep in his throat when Altair plunged into the kiss. His wings unfolded when Altair pushed him back, and curved up around him when his arms hooked over Altair’s shoulders.

He lost his breath to Altair once more, chest heaving when he had the chance to breathe. Desmond slowly closed his mouth. It really wasn’t fair, this hole he was digging himself into. He tried to speak, and it ended up as a soft keen. “... ‘M not gonna let you leave if you keep doing that,” Desmond finally said, eyes half closed. His arms tightened to prove his point.

“Kid, shut up,” Altair said and pressed his mouth against Desmond’s again. He pulled his body back, but kept his lips attached to Desmond’s, and balanced on his knees, his hands going down to Desmond’s thighs and pulled up, bringing them up to Altair’s flanks. He broke away briefly to look down and like he knew because Desmond was a predictable, horny, teenager, he was already starting to get hard again.

He looked back at Desmond and kissed his lips and then sliding his down to his neck. Altair was keen on making some of those faded hickeys back to full life. He knew Desmond liked when he bit and sucked so he while he was sort of gentle with him he didn’t stop his teeth from biting onto Desmond’s skin so hard he left indentations. He kissed the inflamed skin gently, and ran his tongue across it soothingly. He repeated this a few places on Desmond’s neck and the upper part of his chest.

Desmond loosened his grip, but did his best to keep his hands on Altair. He was making all manner of soft sounds while Altair marked him again. His legs tightened and kept him where Altair was maneuvering him, hips already rocking up slowly. He could probably even rub one out with nothing but Altair’s hip to grind against and his mouth on his skin. The thought had his cock twitch, and a particularly loud warble from his throat. He was hopelessly fucked, in every manner of the word.

Altair was more interested in reclaiming Desmond’s skin than much else honestly, but Desmond seemed to be intent on trying to rut against him. Not a surprise to him in the slightest though. Or at the very least grind against the crotch of his jeans a bit to get some friction. If Desmond wanted to get off again he’d be kinda on his own in that department, Altair just wanted to remark his skin. Getting the kid off wasn’t a priority. Bastard had come twice already.

“Can... you take your jeans off for a sec, I-... they really... kinda hurt...” Desmond’s cock fit pretty nicely against the groove running south from the crest of Altair’s pelvis, but with each movement of his hips, he was also rubbing over Altair’s jeans and it was starting to hurt. Either way, it did nothing to ease his growing hard-on, just felt like he was also trying to give himself a rash. Not as hot as his original plan.

Altair sighed, like he was annoyed, and had to sit up and unzip his jeans again. He didn’t pull down his briefs though and he wasn’t even hard. Well, maybe a little hard. Not even half way there though. “Can I do anything else for you?” Altair asked him sarcastically. He didn’t want an answer though, wasn’t even expecting one, and to make sure he didn’t get some stupid reply he leaned back down and kissed Desmond firmly. He pressed his tongue neatly into Desmond’s mouth. They’d only kissed a handful of times and Altair already felt familiar with the shape of Desmond’s mouth, the way his tongue felt. So that was something at least.

His briefs, on the other hand, felt a lot better than his jeans, and Desmond expressed his gratitude with a moan. He ignored Altair’s sarcastic comment in favor of rolling his hips in a long, slow drag against him.

Desmond’s lips parted easily, and his tongue met Altair’s. His hands settled at the other’s shoulders, almost but not quite clinging to him. The longer his hips worked, the more his wings trembled, and the more ragged his breath became, laced with shaky little warbles.

Altair went back to nipping and biting and kissing Desmond’s neck, content to just let Desmond get off on his own. Kid was so damn horny all the time Altair doubted he was even aware of it until Altair had shown up. He just sucked red marks into his neck and chest like he was making red and purple constellations on his skin.

At some point Altair drew back, sitting up once more, to admire what he’d done, untangling himself from Desmond. Desmond’s eyes were blown and his face flushed, his cock hard and leaking. Mouth shaped red marks littered his skin. “You going to finish or what?” because just watching the kid get off three times in less than forty-five minutes was absolutely exhausting. He ran his thumb up the length of Desmond’s cock against his belly slowly, rubbing against the head a little with a smirk.

He groaned, twitching as Altair laid his thumb against him. The touch was apparently more than enough, and he tipped over his third orgasm of the night without further prompting. Desmond let the arch in his back resolve itself, all too happy to just sit there and basically purr in his tired contentment.

Desmond’s eyes slid closed when he sank against the bed again, wings splayed out on either side of him. He was firmly back into that warm bliss, breathing deeply once it became less erratic.

Altair just sat there, watching Desmond, sitting between his legs. He used his wings to hold himself up a bit since what good was an extra set of limbs if to not support you? He pushed one shoulder down to press the long side of his wing against the bed. It was slightly counteractive to his want since pushing it down as such made him sit upright, but his hands were on Desmond’s thighs and he was loathe to move them from there. He made slow, gentle, circles with his thumb along his skin.

“Seeing you tonight makes me think you never actually get off on your own,” Altair teased him. Since really, three times? Christ. How frustrated was he?

He hummed, the sound vibrating in the back of his throat while he listened to Altair. Desmond looked at him, one eye cracked open, brows drawn a little. “I do. It just feels better this way.” The repetitive motion of Altair’s thumb was lulling and he relaxed again. It could have just been that bothering to get up a little and respond was too much trouble and effort.

His thigh twitched under Altair’s hand, “It’s not too late is it?” Desmond didn’t remember what time Altair had finally shown up after lunch, and he wasn’t much better at reading his internal clock more accurately than ‘sunup’ and ‘sundown’ Anything in between that was unknown to him.

“Mmm, it’s about three in the afternoon,” Altair grinned. “And you’re going to be late if you don’t wash up and get ready,” right after lunch he and Connor had off from training, during the hottest parts of the day when they’re warmer avian bodies would easily overheat from the exertion of their training. But before dinner, at around three, they both had different training, with Yusuf, more about fine bodily control than flying exercises with Rauf. “Unless you want me to tell Yusuf why you skipped training?” which wouldn’t end well; for Desmond, if not Altair.

Desmond responded with an unhappy grunt. “It isn’t like it’s news.” This was roughly their second major intimate moment, but it was true that secrets didn’t last long amid the flock, and certainly not secrets that had Altair and Desmond smelling like each other, hickies and teeth marks notwithstanding. He still shoved Altair, and his feathers still fluffed out. It was so human of him to be bashful about it, and even though it was obvious they had and were still fucking, it was entirely different for Altair to go off and talk about it.

He was already sure that he spoke to Malik about it, but Malik never brought it up. Yusuf, on the other hand, was the flock gossip, even worse than Rebecca had been, and she got her nose into almost everything.   
Stopping his wings from reacting too badly was a bit of a struggle, but it seemed like his overly self conscious consciousness had finally made it back to his body. Desmond stopped just short of smacking Altair with the limbs. He was already halfway off of the bed, “You’d better not-!” and his scrambling to wipe himself off and find his clothes was less than graceful.

“Better not what?” just because he liked to see Desmond be so uncomfortable and bashful and shy about it. The entire flock knew. Like actually knew, that he and Desmond had fucked. Ezio had already called him out on it, Yusuf called it a hat trick. Altair had just shrugged and reminded them both he was clearly, absolutely, irresistible, evident by the fact that he’d taken both of them to bed too. “Not tell him you were enjoying yourself for me?” he gave Desmond a crooked grin. “I’m sure they’ve already guessed that,” he added and sat back, zipping up his jeans a second time. 

His face was red, and he had given up on finding the pants he was wearing earlier. “I know!” Desmond’s feathers were ruffled beyond his control, and he was leaving fluffy feathers everywhere. “I just- what? No. Yes, but no, you can’t just _tell_ him things like that!” 

He was halfway to his door by then, stuck in the middle of the room. It could go either way with Altair, really. Desmond let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in a rush. “I know they know already, but... you don’t just. You know, tell people about that kind of stuff?” It was his and Altair’s business, however obvious that business was, what they did. For Desmond, it was.

Altair cocked his head at Desmond in a very bird-like manner and then slid off the bed. It took him only a few steps to stand at Desmond’s back, between his wings. “I don’t need to tell them,” Altair said quietly, into Desmond’s ear. “They know. And what? Are you embarrassed by this?” he pressed a brief kiss against one of the older marks on Desmond’s skin, higher up and further back on his neck than today’s new marks. “The only ones who matter, are the flock, and the flock doesn’t care if I turn you black and blue or fuck you till you can’t walk. Don’t be so... _human_ ,” and with that he stepped out from behind Desmond. “I’ll see you later,” and left him there, getting to the door before Desmond even did.

Desmond’s mind completely blanked, and nothing more than a trilling little chirp made it out of his mouth. He caught up with himself again, and felt his feathers bristle.

He chased after Altair with messy feathers and slightly spread wings. “Don’t call me that. Not after you’ve been telling me I’m not.” Desmond’s wings folded tight up against his back, and he split off from Altair, a roiling mass of messy feathers, embarrassment as much as anger. It had taken him by surprise, and didn’t last long. When the anger dissipated, he felt far from good about it, like it had been rooted somewhere else that wasn’t him. He hadn’t noticed, but when he calmed down, the embarrassment and flush on his cheeks disappeared as well.


	10. Plucking and Punishment

Desmond hadn’t bothered smoothing his feathers down, they’d only get ruffled again training with Yusuf. He focused on that, and quickly forgot about his irritation, which was so easy with the repetitive, complicated motions of the training, mostly muscle and wing control. He’d forgotten about it so well that it didn’t come back to mind at all in the next few weeks, not even while stealing or sharing kisses from Altair. 

Kissing - or God forbid, cuddling - was becoming more and more often something Desmond wanted rather than sex. He certainly still enjoyed hanging around Altair, and definitely liked touching him, but it was a lot less about his dick, and more about _being there_. It might have had something to do with his fledgeling scent finally beginning to fade, or that he’d gotten into a habit of going to the archive at least once a day, even though it made him want to sing. Usually to Altair. 

He stopped leaving the avian side of the compound, and spent roughly equal time in his room and in Altair’s room when Desmond could convince him to let him stay. It was on Altair’s bed that he began to pick through his feathers, finding the ones that were the first few to grow in as firmer, flying feathers. Nothing out of the ordinary that he could see. He hoped he could skip going to the archive.

Altair was coming out of the shower, wiping the back of his neck when he realized he wasn’t alone. He looked up sharply. “Desmond!” he barked, irritation flashing through him for an instant. “Haven’t I fucking told you not to come in here without asking?” because damnit he hated being snuck up on or surprises when he was in a vulnerable position; like the shower. 

He’d just come from some after dinner practice with Malik, who, despite lacking two limbs, could still give him a good workout. He’d wanted to wash and go to sleep and now Desmond was in here, getting his feathers everywhere. He was starting to molt and his wings were huge, there were feathers everywhere and they would be for quite a while. He wasn’t keen on a feather bed right now.

He had his back to Altair, and didn’t turn when he was berated for not asking permission. The wing he wasn’t checking flicked up a bit at the wrist, like a thoughtless wave of his hand. There was a glitter between his feathers when he moved. Since moving, there were a few more made visible, but a shake of his feathers hid them when they settled.

“I’m not making a mess,” Desmond answered, and he wasn’t. He kept each loose feather close and in his lap. “Besides, you were busy in the shower and I didn’t want to wait until you finally finished.” Not that Altair took long showers, and not that Desmond had been in there for a long time, but he had been able to sneak up on Altair from time to time. He’d even managed while Altair wasn’t otherwise occupied in the shower too.

Altair sighed and gave him an annoyed look at the back of his head. “I was going to go to sleep. So get, unless you have pressing matters. Malik and I were about it today,” and indeed Altair was tender, new bruises, appearing on his flesh from their training a bit ago. He just wanted to take some painkillers, pull on some underwear, and go to sleep.

Desmond turned toward Altair, carefully scooting to the edge of the bed with his lapful of feathers. “Don’t want my company at all today?” He asked, head ever so slightly tipped to the side. He knew Altair didn’t like a mess, and always made sure to keep it in control, especially since he began molting. 

His cheeks puffed out a bit, and he looked over Altair’s fresh bruises. “I get it if you want space and all, we do spend a lot of time together.”

Altair wasn’t in the best mood today. It was why he and Malik had beat the shit out of each other. Ed had given him some annoying news and he was preparing for it. He had a while but he still didn’t like it. So that was why he was a little snippy, “I see you all the damn time. I could stand to not see your face every night,” even if he did normally not mind. 

He’d been trying to be better about that. Desmond stole more kisses than Altair gave out, though he didn’t mind, and he kept his hands to himself. He was trying _not_ to be the one who ruined their fledgling. As it was all the bruises and bite marks on Desmond’s skin had faded and except for his training he was unmarked.

“You look like you’re the one who has something to talk about.” He frowned at Altair, getting off of the bed to dispose of the loose feathers without getting them everywhere. Desmond gave a half sigh, mostly talking to himself, “I usually do all the talking though. Shame.”

And all the asking for kisses, or to just lay there beside him. Of course, he’d simply stopped asking after a few days and just did, but Altair never started anything Desmond hadn’t practically had to coax out of him. At least, he hadn’t been surprised with a kiss once yet. He moved back over to Altair despite the scowl on his face, and planted a chaste little kiss on his cheek. “Especially since I miss feeling that hickey you put under my jaw.” Somewhere along the line, he thought it had the capacity to ease the tension - which he could see in Altair’s shoulders. It didn’t occur it would probably just spark more.

Altair visibly stiffened, his wings coming in tight for a moment. His eyes narrowed a little. He didn’t have the fucking capacity for this today. He was going to either send Desmond away or push him onto the bed and hurt him like he sometimes hurt Ezio when they’d fucked, before they got tired of each other too. He put his hand on Desmond’s chest and pushed him back, “Not today,” he said, voice short and stern. “I have too much on my mind to play nice with you tonight,” He was being so good. He didn’t want to break that streak of being good and keeping Desmond at mostly arms’ length.

“Forget I said anything about that. We don’t have to do anything either.” Desmond backed off though, taking a few steps back. “I meant what I said about talking to me, you know. It’s only fair, because I talk to you enough.” He really didn’t like seeing Altair stressed.

Altair sighed and rubbed his face, “Desmond,” he said, more like growled honestly, “ _leave_. I just want to go to sleep. I don’t have the God damn patience for anyone, including you. So do us both a favor and leave before I do something we’ll both regret.”

Clearly, Desmond didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to push it, and decided it wasn’t the time to be a snippy asshole right back, even though biting his tongue was hard.

“You know where I am,” he sighed, and then closed Altair’s door behind himself. That was probably all there would be to it though. Desmond bit his lip, not liking the feeling of uneasiness that bubbled up from his stomach. Uselessness was less important but another feeling that also clung to his gut. 

Altair sighed once Desmond left and got ready for bed. He didn’t sleep though and just sat in bed, his head between his knees, hands on the back of his head. His wings formed a feathery shell around him. He stayed like that until sleep claimed his restless mind and his internal clock shut off. He missed normal wake up time and only woke sometime around lunch. When he did wake he felt disorientated and hungry. He got out of bed, stumbled into a pair of sweats, and staggered to the cafeteria.

Desmond was eating with Connor, the both of them silent in a mess hall full of voices. Talking came secondary, the both of them were too busy eating. He knew pretty much instantly when Altair made it into the cafeteria, and glanced up. He also knew that the feeling of having to tiptoe on glass around him was probably all just in his head and nothing to worry himself over. Desmond never knew Altair to wake up that late, though, and believed he was allowed to worry about him, even a little. Though he had been a colossal dick last night.

Altair’s nose led him first to the food and then to where their young avians were still eating their lunch. Usually the rest of the flock got in and out as fast as possible but Connor and Desmond ate about three times as much food as the adults, to keep up with their still expanding muscles and bones and molting feathers. Altair sat down heavily across from the two youngest avians and looked at them with sleep deprived, half lidded, eyes. 

“Morning,” he sighed, he still felt exhausted. He was still pissed about what Ed had told him. Ed said his hands were tied on the matter. Bill had said Altair _specifically_ for the thing. Even though he knew Altair hated it. Hated being at the beck and call of the humans, hated leaving his flock, hated not having Desmond at least within reasonable sight. He just hated everything about it. Nothing Ed or Haytham could do though. Sometimes they had to pay for having it so good and not be cast out like the wild ferals. Every now and then even an avian had to come to heel to the humans who gave them everything they needed or desired.

Under the table, Desmond lifted his feet, prodding Altair’s ankles with his toes. He’d stopped wearing shoes a long time ago, even when he trained outside. Because of that, he kept them pretty damn clean when he had the chance, often tracking wet footprints into the compound after rinsing his feet from practice.

He paused his endeavor to eat his weight in food to return Altair’s greeting, verbally, at least. He took the chance to finish off his drink too. “Hi Alty.” Desmond had stopped fumbling over what he called Altair as well. Casually, he was almost always Alty, unless he was singing, because for some reason, his full name rolled off his tongue just as easily as the strange language. 

Altair was too tired to care about his boundaries this morning and simply lifted his foot, rolling it over to place on top of Desmond’s. His toes moved against Desmond’s skin as he ate, but didn’t make further conversation. He’d slept last night, but barely. it felt like, possibly it was the position he’d slept in, his back hurt from it still. He had about two weeks to get his shit together and prepare. He’d done his angry thing the day before, and sulked last night, he just needed some rest and food and he’d be back to himself; he’d deal with it.

Desmond cast him a second, quizzical glance, and then returned to his food. He didn't speak until after he finished. "You sleep at all?" Desmond asked quietly, attention mostly focused on the empty plate. 

He shuffled his wings, foot settling under Altair's. Honestly, he kind of looked like shit.

“Not really,” Altair yawned. “Mind your own business kid,” and he lifted his foot off of Desmond’s and got up. “You two get to training,” he said to Connor and Desmond and took his plate away to be cleaned.

He was going to get pretty fed up with Altaïr, though it kind of was how he acted all the time. Desmond kept his frown to himself. They had time before getting back to training, and he decided to just sit there.

Connor got up when he was done, nudging Desmond with his wing to prompt him to get up. "I'll meet you outside in a bit," he said. He knew he could probably vent to Connor, and he'd listen, but he hadn't checked through his feathers yet. The longer Desmond went without doing so, the more paranoid he got about the strange feathers.

Desmond slipped away himself, and returned to the archive. He took a moment, staring at the lines and geometric designs radiating around the lock. All of this time, and he still had no idea how he managed to unlock the door. It clicked under his fingers and Desmond let himself in, waiting for the door to close heavily behind him. 

Atair went back to his room and realized really what time it was. He didn’t realize it was so late. He rubbed his head and put on some real clothes and then fell on his bed. He was still tired. He lay on his stomach for a little while and took a nap. Then he pulled himself together and went out to the training area for the avians, which was outside. One of the few outside places in the compound, because the place was meant to kept people in more than keep people out sometimes it seemed. Rauf was out there with Yusuf, Rauf picking through some of his ashy feathers.

“Altair,” Rauf said in greeting as Altair got closer to them.

“Hey,” Altair fanned his wings out wide, stretching them all the way out, the way he couldn’t when he was inside. His bones cracked a little and he sighed. Like most of them his wingspan was huge, more than twice his actual height. He flapped a little, kicking up some dust. “I need some flying,” he said. Rauf’s brows went up in interest.

“Really?” normally flying wasn’t a big deal, they’d do it whenever. But for Altair specifically coming out here for flying training meant he was going to be flying a long way. “You want weights?” Rauf asked him.

“Not yet. Been a while,” he hadn’t done much flying since Desmond’s wings had come in.

“Okay, meet you at the top of the tower when you’re ready,” he smiled at Altair, brushed his gray wing against Yusuf’s and headed for the wooden tower that rose a good fifty feet above the ground of the training area. At the top of the scaffold tower was a platform to jump off of to get the right lift.

Altair watched Rauf a second before stretching his big wings out to their full extent. Ed had the biggest wings of the flock, and Haytham the smallest. Altair’s were big though, and he could fly. He was looking forward to that again.

Desmond returned in time to see Altair climbing the scaffolding. He was two feathers less, but it was a small change, nothing noticeable.

“You two should watch. The both of you will be practicing and learning to fly in no time at all.” Yusuf smiled, standing off to the side. He was also watching, though with less excitement than Desmond. Connor, on the other hand, watched to learn what he could from the ground, though it was pretty straight forward. Neither of them had ever seen an avian fly.

Up at the top of the scaffold there was a good head wind that tugged at Altair and Rauf’s wings, pulling them back and if they didn’t resist, open against their will and fling them off the tower. All avians needed some sort of height or wind to achieve lift off, only maybe Ed had the wing span for powered lift off, but his wings weren’t made for it. They were made for gliding, and not much flapping.

“So I heard about it,” Rauf said, keeping his gray wings tight as possible to his back.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Altair grunted. “Just set the course,” he gave Rauf a look. Rauff had fairly small wings, but he was outrageously muscular. That meant even though his wings seemed almost too small to support him they weren’t and he had the quickest turns of the entire flock, not needing to even bank without losing lift, he could just zip around like a sparrow. It was why he was teaching Connor and Desmond to fly, since you could say he did it the best. At the very least he was the most agile in it.

“Alright,” Rauf said and jumped off the tower. Altair followed after, their arms outstretched beside them. Rauf’s wings snapped open quickly and started to pump, catching an updraft and gaining altitude. Altair’s wings were bigger and thus slower but they opened well before he was close to the ground. The tips of Altair’s fingers brushed the underside of his gray and sandy wings before pulling his arms and his wings down. The first few flaps it helped to have every muscle in your chest and back moving, to get the full force of your wings against the wind.

Altair closed his eyes as he started to rise, the wind on his face. Really flying was nothing but saying fuck you to gravity and pushing down on the air, constantly falling but at enough speed so you never actually did. His feathers shifted in a way he was familiar with and he banked, catching the thermal from the top of the compound and soared upwards. Altair opened his eyes and lowered his arms a bit at the same time. Rauf was waiting for him up there, sort of hovering in place, his wings beating so fast they were a blur. Rauf was the only one able to hover like that too, small body, right shaped wings, and extremely muscular.

“Ready to go?” Rauf called over the wind, since up here- Connor, Desmond, and Yusuf’s looked like toy soldiers below- the wind was strong.

“You lead,” Altair called back. Rauf grinned and then took off. Altair followed quickly, his great wings pumping.

The longing to be up there on those winds was a deep, instinctual one. Desmond’s wings shuffled, and he still looked up, watching Altair’s form shrink as he drifted away on the hot, rising air. Yusuf had to shove him gently to catch his attention.

“There is still work to do, Desmond. You can’t expect to do that without figuring all of this out.” Yusuf pulled out one of Desmond’s wings, prompting him to unfold the other as well. He ran him through the minute muscle movements once, and then had him and Connor practice that until they became reactions to the wind. Other than that, it got them used to keeping the rather heavy limbs outstretched and self-supported for endurance.

Desmond couldn’t help glancing up from time to time to spot Altair against the sky. It didn’t take much for Yusuf to startle him, pushing through his primaries. “What? Sorry-” Desmond spread them apart again.

“You’ve been missing your fourth primary for days. Have you looked into that?”  
He hesitated, picking up on Yusuf’s concern. Desmond looked to Connor, but he’d gone off to do his own thing, and would be of no use to him. Yeah, no, he’d climbed up in that gnarly old tree again. It wasn’t tall enough to jump from for lift, but it got enough wind that it was worth climbing up to stand against it. His eyes flicked back to Yusuf. “...No...? I thought it came in already.”

Yusuf’s mouth twisted a little. It certainly wasn’t a smile, but it wasn’t exactly a frown. He’d pulled that fluffy primary the last time the flock preened. “You need to pay attention to your wings. If a feather doesn’t come in, it could be ingrown, infected, or worse, and I won’t be around all the time to check them for you.” His expression softened when Desmond winced. He parted Desmond’s feathers to get to the actual limb within the feathers. It was a little red compared to the surrounding follicles, though without a trace of blood. In fact, he could already see a replacement coming in, shaft poking out. “You’ve been plucking it, haven’t you.”

Desmond didn’t even need to respond.

Altair narrowed his eyes as he dove after Rauf, nearly knocking him out of the air when they almost collided. Which was of course, the point. There were two types among avians, ones like Altair which had big wings like eagles, most common, and then ones with smaller wings, like sparrows, like Rauf. Most with Rauf’s wings couldn’t fly, like Haytham or Malik, their wings too small to support them in real flight. Rauf was an exception because he was so small. Rauf got out of the way before Altair crashed into him, they both would have gone down if that happened.

He didn’t know how long they’d been up here but neither of them were even winded. This was play for them; fun. “Don’t be so rough,” Rauf called over the wind, sort of hovering again.

“Sorry!” that used to be a word he had to force out of his mouth.

“Again?” Rauf asked.

“Again.”

“Keep up this time big bird,” and Rauf made a face at him, Altair scowled and followed when Rauf suddenly dived. Altair adjusted the set of his wings expertly, knowing exactly how to angle them to get the most speed he could and not lose control. They dived at the ground where Desmond and Yusuf were standing and then about fifteen feet above their heads Rauf pulled upward quickly. Altair needed twenty feet but he managed to make the rapid turn and flapped with wings and arms to regain altitude, following Rauf back through the sky. He caught an updraft to catch up quicker and rolled when Rauf did. Thankfully unlike real eagles avians had a finer control over their bodies, but they still had to be careful.

They rose higher and higher and higher into the sky, the top of the compound becoming small. They were at cloud level and up here they were both panting heavily, their lungs working to keep their bodies full of enough oxygen to sustain flight at this altitude. Rauf hovered, his wing beats a big slower than before. Altair curved around him. “Any higher?” Rauf called.

Altair looked up at the bottom of the clouds, his skin was at once sweating and freezing. He was a bit too out of practice to maintain this altitude. His lungs not up for it. “Take us on a course,” Altair called as he was banking behind Rauf, adjusting his wings every few seconds to not fall out of the sky, to maintain speed. Rauf nodded and dropped, not as fast as before, and Altair followed. The course was full of turns that for Altair was nearly impossible with his huge wings, but he kept up.

Desmond ducked, hearing the two diving bodies hurtling through the air. Yusuf, on the other hand, stood firm, feathers ruffled by the air Rauf and Altair displaced when their wings pumped to regain altitude and fly off again. “Is there a reason you pluck it?” He waited for Desmond to recollect himself before walking around him to inspect his wings. Yusuf was curious now. If he was plucking one, were there others he hadn’t noticed, or was there something wrong with them?

He shook his head, watching Yusuf circle him and poke at his feathers.

“Your primaries-”

“Are the most important flight feathers, yeah, I know.”

“Birds might be able to get away with missing primaries and still be able to fly, but you’re not a two pound bird,” Yusuf continued after Desmond interrupted him. “That’s one feather less of your surface area, and that much more work. Your wings aren’t small, either.” He wasn’t going to tell him not to pluck his own feathers. Desmond wasn’t exactly a fledgeling anymore, and he certainly wasn’t a child. “Besides, I know it hurts. It looked a little swollen.”

He turned his attention to Connor, voice carrying easily as he called him over. Big lungs and a strong diaphragm made that pretty simple. Talking about how to move in the air and practicing on the ground was entirely different than actually doing it in the air. “How about we see how much air you’ll catch, Connor? Don’t give me that look, I know you’re trying to glide from the tree when you don’t think anyone else is out here. You know there’s a lower platform for that on the tower?” 

Connor had frowned a bit, but followed Yusuf.

“Yeah, Connor, you kind of crashed last time.” They both had, and Desmond more so than Connor simply because his wings were about as useful as two giant cotton balls, but they had both still hit the ground like relatively large, winged rocks. The comment earned him a sharp look from Connor, thrown over his shoulder. Desmond shrugged. “What, it’s true!”

Once they’d run the high course Altair was starting to feel the strain in his wings and muscles, panting heavily. Damn he didn’t realize he was so fucking out of practice. “Rauf!” he yelled over the wind, throwing his voice as far forward as possible. Rauf made a move impossible for Altair or most anyone really and made a swift, one hundred and eighty degree turn in only a few motions. “We’re done,” he called.

“Tired you out did I?” Rauf laughed, though to Altair’s credit Rauf was also breathing heavily, though not nearly as laboured as Altair.

“Yeah you did shrimp!” Altair cried and Rauf laughed. They started the slow corkscrew down to the compound and the tower.

“You wanna talk about it?” Rauf asked, coming in close to and on top of Altair, though not close enough to touch.

“No,” Altair said shortly.

“Okay,” Altair liked Rauf for that, he didn’t push or prod or try to make you uncomfortable. He just let it be.

Desmond had leaned himself against the scaffolding while Yusuf and Connor climbed. His wings were folded at his sides rather than behind him, and he was looking over his feathers. In all honesty, he had known that someone would bring up his perpetually missing feathers at some point. He was irritated and pretty unhappy when he moved his feathers aside to check the follicle himself, only to find it was already coming back in. He’d pulled it out that day, and it seemed like it was just continually growing back, and faster than most of his young feathers, which often took a day or more. It had hardly been four hours, and the sheath was already visible.

Yusuf had been right about it hurting, though it was kind of like a less painful papercut. It only hurt when he thought about it, and immediately after he pulled it out. Desmond sighed, looking up to watch Connor and Yusuf. He got distracted by Rauf and Altair lazily circling back down to the ground.

“Hey Rauf-

“Don’t even think about it,” Rauf knew exactly what Altair wanted to do. He gave Altair a stern look, Altair just smiled ruefully. 

“Or what?” Altair asked.

“My wings may be little, but they’ll hurt if I smack you with them,” Rauf threatened.

“All right all right,” Altair waved him off, grinning. They kept coasting down, watching as Yusuf and Connor got onto the lower platform on the tower.

Yusuf had Connor spread his wings and move his feathers to catch and control the wind that met them, talking him through the process specific to gliding, though it was pretty self explanatory. “... Feathers spread to get the most air under your wings.”

Desmond caught bits and pieces of what Yusuf said. He moved away from the tower to spread his own wings, missing primary glaringly obvious now that he was hyper-aware of it. Flapping did a whole load of nothing, aside from kicking up dust, and he folded them back up. He had energy he wanted to burn.

“Altair! I want to talk to you when Connor and I are finished!” Yusuf called out to him when he and Rauf neared their lower altitude. Desmond knew it also meant he would have to stay behind, if the look thrown down at him meant anything.

Altair sighed. Oh that wasn’t a good sign. If Yusuf needed to ‘talk to him’ it meant something was wrong. And if it was here, it meant it was something wrong with Desmond. God damnit. Couldn’t he just have these two weeks when _nothing_ went wrong?

He didn’t yell down to Yusuf and banked away from the tower. “Altair-

“I’m not leavin’,” Altair called back to Rauf. “I just don’t wanna deal with it as long as possible,” he frowned in annoyance.

Desmond wasn’t any happier than Altair was, but he waited there while Connor took a running jump from the platform and caught the air under his wings the way they were supposed to. Yusuf followed suit, and guided him toward the hay strewn across the far side of the field. There were times when it was cut and piled up, but at the moment the field was mostly covered. It was still softer to land in. Either way, Connor didn’t have much trouble meeting the ground again, flapping to slow down and control his angle in the air.

He waited for Yusuf to make his way back, and waved to Connor, who knew he’d probably get an earful about it over dinner. In return, Desmond would probably get even more of an earful about flying - it was only a glide, but when Yusuf let him know he could continue to practice, he was climbing back up the scaffolding within minutes. 

Desmond met Yusuf halfway, wings at a low angle. “I can talk to Altair about it myself, Yusuf.... Besides, he’s been... pissy.” He didn’t think it was a good idea, or good time.

Yusuf honestly could have rolled his eyes. Honestly, watching the two of them was like watching a bad soap opera every week, and wondering why he tormented himself with coming back to it again and again without fail. “Only when he doesn’t get something he wants. Or... he’s forced to do something he doesn’t want.” He shrugged. “It needs to be done, and he’s the only one who spends enough time with you to make sure you don’t keep plucking it.” And also the only one who could convince Desmond to do or not do something without fail. “And you are notorious for putting things off. Relax, it won’t be so bad.”

Altair frowned when Connor landed and knew he had to suck it up. With a big sigh he flared his wings, tipping them to make him go down. He landed on the ground lightly a few minutes later, having to take a few quick steps to check all of his forward momentum. He ran his hand through his hair a few times to get it to sort of behave but knowing it probably didn’t do much good, and backtracked to Yusuf and Desmond.

He was still short of breath when he got to them. “What he do now?” because he had no illusions as to what Yusuf needed to talk about and he sent Desmond a look, only clearly saying ‘let the grown ups talk’ because he could already see every excuse coming into Desmond’s mind. If he could, Desmond would try to get out of it. Meaning Altair was paying closer attention now.

Desmond scowled at the look, already getting defensive. He didn’t want to talk now, already feeling shut down with just that _look_. He didn’t know, but Yusuf was giving Altair a similar, irritated expression.

“You know he’s missing feathers, right?” Yusuf knew Altair wasn’t the best imprintee, but that didn’t mean he could just ignore what was required of him. As much as Desmond was supposed to talk to Altair, Altair was supposed to make sure Desmond _kept_ talking to him.

“Missing?” Altair blinked, “I thought they hadn’t just come in yet,” Altair looked right at the primary missing in Desmond’s wing. Altair still had his wings fanned out, to cool them and him after flying with Rauf and he knew they could make him look more angry than he was. But he also wasn’t going to fold them up, too much blood pumping fast and hot through his body, he’d overheat. 

“Every time I see him he’s missing that one,” because it was the most obvious. “I was going to ask him about it before... the thing,” he knew Yusuf knew what the thing was, but they didn’t usually talk about stuff like that in front of the younger avians. “I got distracted.” He turned to Desmond, “Are you plucking?” because why the hell would he do that?

His wings were half folded around him until Yusuf held out the more obviously lacking wing. Desmond stared at Altair, though it was more of a sideways kind of glance. He wanted to turn away from him. “I am.” He had no idea what ‘the thing’ was, and kind of didn’t care. Desmond wanted to just go, just leave.

Yusuf more or less held him there. Neither of them probably wanted him to be standing there while they talked, but he knew the flight response in Desmond before the kid even realized that’s what it was, and he wanted to be sure it looked like it could be resolved without his presence before he actually did leave.

“Why?” Altair was more concerned than anything. You couldn’t fly without all your primaries, especially with wings like Desmond’s who looked like they would be truly _massive_. Like the size of Ed’s wings. “You know you shouldn’t. What’s wrong?” his brow furrowed. Honestly he’d thought something like they were just slower to come in than the rest of them. But now... Desmond was actively pulling them out.

His tense posture faded, and he was left feeling a little uncomfortable with Yusuf as a third party. “They’re not normal.” Desmond pulled his wing back when Yusuf let it go, and drew it snugly against his back. “It. It isn’t.” There were three that he could actively reach, but he’d only been called out on one of them, and would have liked it to remain at one feather.

There were a few he couldn’t reach, but could see, and mostly just... kept his feathers down and hoped they didn’t show.

Altair cocked his head to the side. He hadn’t missed the slip, he knew Desmond too well. If there was only one he wouldn’t have used the plural. “You’re plucking more than one feather? Desmond, your feathers are still coming in, we don’t even know what color they’ll be. Rauf has wings that change color and Yusuf’s are iridescent blue. Whatever you think isn’t normal I’m sure is fine. So really, why the hell are you plucking?”

“The other ones are dark.” And they were, dark, and lightly banded. “They’re... uh. Gold.” 

Yusuf’s brows rose, but he kept his mouth shut, skeptical.

Desmond fidgeted. Even his feathers moved. “I’ll show you, I’m not lying just to make up an excuse.” He didn’t want Altair to think he’d ended up hating his wings again.

Altair frowned and looked at Yusuf, then back at him, “I think I’ll take him off your hands,” because he saw Desmond seemed more ill at ease with Yusuf around. It was one thing to tell Altair, Desmond sort of wanted to tell Altar things, it was another to tell Yusuf. “You’re showing me these feathers, right now,” he ordered.

Yusuf turned with a nod, against all of his burning curiosity. He respected Altair, though, and their hierarchy was important, though not entirely absolute. “Don’t forget to talk to him yourself,” he said, far from forceful. It was just a part of what he did, apart from knowing everything there was to know about every tidbit of gossip worthy information. He was a mediator and caretaker.

Desmond wasn’t quite infinitely thankful to Altair for having Yusuf leave, but he was made slightly more comfortable. His fingers twitched as if he was going to grab Altair’s wrist. He didn’t, hooking his thumb into his pocket. “... Alright.” 

His walk was similar to a shuffle as he returned to the compound. Rather than rinse the dust from his feet, he wiped them, wings spreading a little to balance himself. There was a rare smattering of the oddly bright feathers near his back, where they blended in a little better with the light fledgeling feathers. Inside, Desmond walked quickly, leading Altair to the archive. He heaved a sigh and pressed his hand over the lock, eyes flickering.

Altair just wore a frown as he followed Desmond and his brow creased and furrowed when the archive door opened. It took him a second but then he saw the small collection of shimmering, golden, feathers on the ground. Several of them were long primaries.

Altair went over to them and picked up one of the primaries, it wasn’t fully grown, he could tell just by looking at it. Desmond had pulled it out before it reached full length. He turned it in his fingers and looked at Desmond in confusion. “Why would you pull these out?” he asked.

“Look at them, they’re fucking golden. It’s not like they’re yellow or orange, they’re glittery and obvious and I thought they wouldn’t grow back like that but...” His wings lowered behind him, and the door closed heavily, locking automatically. “They do, and they grow back fast.” 

Desmond crouched down, gathering up the feathers. A couple of them were basically fully grown, one of them being one of his primaries, and it was a monstrous thing. It was comparable to the length of his arm. More than a foot and a half of almost iridescent gold, lighter at the base, and darker, more orange at the tip.

“They’re beautiful,” Altair said, still confused as he turned one of them slowly in his fingers. He looked down at the one he was holding. “I don’t know... why you would pull them out,” he frowned at Desmond. “Are you feeling bad about them again?” meaning his wings and how Desmond said he hadn’t wanted them. “I don’t... understand the thought process behind plucking them.”

He stared at him, head tipped. “I’m not... supposed to have them,” Desmond said slowly, as if he wasn’t sure of his own reason anymore. It seemed like everything he did to avoid attention just brought it back tenfold. “I was going to ask if it was normal...” He never did. And then he found himself apologizing.

“Feathers come in all sorts,” Altair said, “and yours are just coming in. You don’t know what your wings are even going to look like,” he picked up another golden feather. He looked at Desmond, frowning in concern mostly. “Stop pulling your feathers out. I’m going to check to make sure you aren’t. Even if they were strange, which they aren’t,” though maybe the color was a bit, Altair had never heard of an avian with golden feathers, but then the only avians Altair knew were in his flock. He didn’t have a whole lot to go on. 

“You’re not helping yourself by taking them out. It just costs you more in the long run of having to regrow them. So just let them come in. If you’re plucking them,” he didn’t really know what honestly. He’d bring it to Edward for starters. “I’ll bring it up with the Kenways if this gets out of hand Desmond,” not that he wanted to, but when Desmond was pulling out some of his biggest feathers; it was sort of a big deal and he didn’t know really how to deal with it.

Desmond was far from convinced, but he said he’d stop pulling them out, even though they were really pretty. He sat back, crossing his legs. “They take... less than a day to grow back,” Desmond murmured, petting through the feathers on his wings. He pulled them back to show the missing primary.

“Then stop fighting your body, idiot,” Altair scowled at him a little. “Clearly it’s trying to keep your wings fully formed. Is this why you’ve been losing fewer downy feathers the past week or so?” which was when he’d noticed the first time Desmond was missing a primary, though it wasn’t exactly easy since Desmond’s wings were still mostly down.

He shrugged. It was better than any guess he would have had. “It hurts to keep pulling them out anyway.” Desmond looked away, at the artifacts holed up around the room. He let go of his wings, folding and angling them awkwardly to continue sitting on the floor. There was a quiet hum at the back of his throat.

“Good,” Altair said and gently tapped Desmond under the chin with his own long, golden, feather. “Until I have to go I’m going to make sure they’re coming in properly though,” he’d get someone else to do it when he left. Yusuf, or Malik maybe. Someone who would just give Desmond a quick once over, make sure his golden feathers were growing in.

Desmond’s attention snapped back to Altair, the sound dying. “Are... you gonna tell me anything about that? Going? Where?” That wasn’t the kind of response a fledgeling would have hearing the one they imprinted on had to go for a while, or at least, not the response one who was feathering, and nearly out of that stage, would have. 

He was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of Altair not being in the compound for any amount of time, even though he was supposed to be becoming more independent. Desmond got to his knees, wings low beside him so that he could actually sit somewhat comfortably. It gave his lower back a slight arch that propped him up even straighter.

“No, I’m not,” Altair said and used the feather to tap Desmond lightly on the nose. “It’s just some stuff I have to deal with, no one likes it; but we deal with it,” he sighed and drew his hand and feather back to him and looked it over again. Why the hell Bill had picked him he didn’t know. He knew Des had imprinted on him and should be kept around, if only until the last of Desmond’s wings had come in.

The answer Altair didn’t want to admit to was that Bill was an overly protective, vindictive, dad who’d figured out Altair was the one who’d fucked his kid. Outside of the flock it was impossible for most humans to tell. But it was Bill. He’d probably figured it out and it had taken him till now to get Altair away from Desmond, at least for a while. It would take him a long time to get back, just because of what he had to do, where he had to go, and the fact that he was flying to get there. He’d be gone for weeks and wouldn’t come back till well after Desmond had finished molting and the imprint shrugged off. Which of course was probably why Bill thought they’d done it. Too bad for him he didn’t know his son was basically in love with him to the point it was almost annoying. Because it made it so hard to keep Desmond away.

“I’m just going to be gone for a while. You’ll be fine and continue your training and molting. You’ll probably be flying by the time I get back,” Altair grinned a little. He was looking forward to that, seeing Desmond fly. Or at least try to fly. He’d probably miss all the blundering and falling like he got to witness with Connor. Oh well.

Desmond’s frown was almost a scowl. Whatever it was, he figured it was his father’s fault. He’d almost forgotten that they still had to do anything they were told to do outside of the compound. No matter where or how strenuous the task. “You’re flying really far away, aren’t you.” He didn’t bother asking where, he had no concept of the world outside of the compound that didn’t come from things he had heard, or gleaned from the very objects in the room (he learned very quickly he wasn’t supposed to touch them).

His wings slouched, feathers spread across the floor around him. 

“I am,” Altair said and sort of ticked his own chin with the feather. “I’m leaving in two weeks, so I expect to see those golden feathers before I leave. I’ll make sure to tell Yusuf to keep an eye on you so you don’t pluck,” because that couldn’t keep happening. “Now c’mon,” he nudged Desmond with his wing, “you still have time with Yusuf and I was just taking a break from flying,” because he needed to get his body back into proper flying shape. He was in great human shape but it had been a long time since he’d used his wings like this. He needed fly more.

“How long will you be gone, though?” Desmond didn’t get up, even when Altair’s wing pushed against him. He was still unhappy about it, and apparently not ready to stop sulking about it. Not plucking wouldn’t be a hassle for him. It was more of a chore to keep up with the ones he pulled out, and Altair had been right. He was fighting his body, and it hadn’t been the first time.

He ignored the constant whispering and lifted his wings from the floor, looking up at Altair. “I’ll hold you to it because I want to fly with you when you come back.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” Altair said truthfully since there was getting there, doing the thing, and then getting back. As it was he knew he’d be gone weeks at the least. “Don’t worry, we will. I know Ed’s planning a thing once you and Connor can both actually stay in the air, now get up,” he flipped his wing against Desmond’s chest. “I can’t spend the rest of the day here and neither can you.”

He whined like the oversized child he was, and finally got up. “You know, I do have other golden feathers... I just can’t reach them.” Desmond took the plucked feathers, looking around the room. Maybe he’d wanted to make something with them. There was no reason, but he hadn’t just gotten rid of the feathers like every other one he lost. And Desmond got rid of bags of them, it wasn’t like anyone went through bags of feathers before the trash was incinerated.

“So they’ve come in properly than,” Altair gave him a look. “C’mon,” he put his wing around Desmond and started to lead him towards the door. “Maybe you’ll be lucky and your wings will come in more gold than not,” he grinned at Desmond and leaned over to him as the door unlocked again. He pressed his face into part of Desmond’s down he still had. “Kinda lucky there are no girl avians in the flock. You’d have to beat them off with a stick if you had golden wings,” and he pulled back with a laugh as the door finish opening.

Desmond’s hand slipped from the lock and he jumped when he felt Altair’s face in his feathers. “Alty, that’s not funny. I think I’m going to have to beat Yusuf off with a stick...” Or God forbid Petruccio getting into the avian quarters again. Ezio claimed that had been a mistake he had no idea transpired, though honestly, the kid had gone straight for Desmond’s room and his fluffy, pale wings.

He glanced back at Altair, shuffling the handful of feathers. “Keep that one, okay?” Desmond walked into the hall, head down while he fiddled with them. “And take it with you when you go.”

Altair grinned, “I think I’ll take a smaller one than one of your big primaries,” Altair said, amused even though he tucked the long primary behind his ear like an asshole. He’d be keeping this one though, one of the bigger ones. “Just give Yusuf one of the big ones and he’ll leave you alone,” he used his wing to pull Desmond closer to him. “I’ll take this one too,” he picked out a smaller feather. Really he thought they were amazing and beautiful since he was an avian and like a lot of birds avians loved shiny things. It was why there wasn’t a lot of glitter or shiny things in the avian wing and even mirrors were only in the bathrooms. Bad idea to let an avian near things that were too shiny.

“You look like a total dipshit,” Desmond said, referring to the primary Altair put behind his ear. He let him take another feather, and honestly, probably would’ve just given them all to him if he wanted them. 

The whispering stopped when the door had closed itself, and he shook himself as if doing so would break him from the residual echoes. For Desmond, it really only just became indistinguishable from the regular white noise, and rose to an understandable peak when he was in the archive. 

He offered a smile, relaxing a little easier. Desmond was glad that Altair hadn’t been adverse to him pretty much demanding he take a feather with him when he left. After all, they were kind of shiny.


	11. That Isn't What I Meant to Say

Altair pressed his face against Desmond’s damp shoulder, breathing heavy. Desmond was trembling under him and Altair’s wings were twitching just as much as his. Fuck. Why the hell had he done that? Why the hell had he just fucked Desmond _again_? He’d been so damn good lately, allowing Desmond to steal fewer and fewer kisses. But like a sliver of ice he’d just snapped and gone for it. He was pretty sure he’d just wrecked the kid for at least a day. He doubted he’d be able to get up and join Altair in the shower like the first time. 

Altair hadn’t been nice or gentle. He was still so damn annoyed about this fucking mission to nearly the other side of the Goddamn world and pissed at Bill for being a piece of shit who couldn’t stand not being in control. He might have taken his frustrations out on Desmond. But bless him the kid was willing as the first time.

Panting Altair pushed himself up onto his elbows. Desmond had his head sideways on the bed, trying to catch his breath, eyes closed, soft noises leaving his mouth. He looked like he’d enjoyed it immensely. Fuck Altair would think so. He’d never seen someone so eager to be fucked into a mattress in his life.

“Sorry about that,” Altair said, pushing himself up a little bit. As said Altair hadn’t been gentle, and maybe he’d been a bit rough. He knew at one point Desmond had made him stop because he’d been a bit too harsh. He didn’t think he’d hurt the kid though. Better safe than sorry though.

Desmond was crooning softly with each breath, even when he’d finally caught it again. His wings were spread out, wrists still pressed into the bed to keep him from being forced off the edge. Since he stopped pulling feathers, more showed up, mostly the usual dark blue, but some were lighter, and a few also came in golden.

Altair had been rough as hell, but he hadn’t felt this damn blissed out afterward. Desmond groaned, trying to look back at him. “No... you feel a little bit better... at least?” He asked when he could form words that weren’t incomprehensible. He’d gotten a little better at not slipping into the babbling sounds that Altair couldn’t understand, but there had still been strings of it coming from him.

Altair sat up, his wing fanning out, even spreading his feathers at the ends. “Not all about me, kid,” Altair, reaching down to help pull himself out. He saw Desmond’s hands clench a little from it and Altair smirked a bit. Damn this kid. He wasn’t sure if Desmond wasn’t the only one a bit ruined from this.

“I would advise... not moving,” Altair said and took the condom off, the third one, and tossed it in the trash with the others. Altair had probably not had this much sex since he was Desmond’s age. He fanned his feathers a bit, to create a cool breeze against their sweaty skin. Altair’s skin rose in goosebumps a bit before getting used to the cold air again.

He shivered, and slouched completely against the bed. Desmond made a face at the wall, not really liking the feeling of flopping down on his cum, but it wasn’t the worst thing he’d done. He didn’t feel all that bad, aside from the expected ache and soreness. The worst wouldn’t come until tomorrow when he had to continue training with the limp and pain. 

“Good,” Desmond grunted, “‘Cuz I don’t wanna move.” His wings twitched, feathers lifting in the air Altair kicked up.

“Well since you aren’t, I’ll be right back,” and Altair got up through his body protested. He wanted to just lay down and do nothing because he’d just had a lot of really rough sex and was exhausted. Also he was leaving tomorrow and wanted to get to bed earlier than later. But he made himself move. 

Altair groaned as he stood up and stretched, the bones in his back popped delightfully. Then he went into the bathroom and grabbed one of the washcloths and held it under the cold tap until it was soaked. He wrung it out a little and took and the other dry one and went back to his room.

He practically fell back onto his bed, mindful of where Desmond’s big wings were. He pressed the wet washcloth to Desmond’s slick back and then over the rise of his ass.

The cloth was cold, and felt pretty damn amazing on his skin. Desmond spread his wings a little more to pull the feathers that fell along his back away. “Alty,” he murmured, trying to roll onto his side with one wing tucked against the bed. “Can I stay tonight?” He’d been spending as much time as he could near Altair for the entire day, but he at least asked for this, since it was Altair’s bed, after all.

“I wouldn’t make you walk back to your room,” Altair snorted, he wasn’t that much of an asshole after all. He used one hand to move Desmond’s cheeks so he could press the cold towel against Desmond’s abused entrance gently. Altair also used his hand to gently ease the obvious tenderness in his ass. “I’m not that cruel,” he leaned down and pressed his lips against one of the dark red marks on his neck. Yeah, Altair was just cruel in other ways.

He sighed, the sound tugged at the edges by yet another quiet warble. Desmond stopped trying to move and just went limp under Altair’s hand. His throat worked soundlessly when he kissed over the bruises, and felt Altair’s breath against his skin.

“I know,” Desmond said, voice soft and on the verge of hitching. Altair was actually pretty kind, probably more than he liked to let on, and Desmond thoroughly enjoyed the warm attention.

“Roll over,” Altair said even as he nipped and kissed the nape of Desmond’s neck. There were fresh bite marks all over Desmond’s skin now, some even close to the point of bleeding. Even them on his back and shoulders though the big ones that looked like Desmond had been punched were on his chest. Altair had turned Desmond black and blue and he kinda felt bad for it. He should have had more control. 

Rolling over wasn’t so much of an easy endeavor anymore. He had to wrestle one wing beneath himself, and then unfold it, which wasn’t that simple when they were as big as his were. Desmond grumbled, and bunched up Altair’s sheets as he did so.  
Each movement made him aware of a new ache, and he whimpered. Desmond reached up, getting his fingers into Altair’s hair, and holding his face. He smiled, trilling softly. Seriously, he had to stop with all of these noises.

Altair leaned down and pressed a kiss against Desmond’s kiss bruised lips. He sucked on Desmond’s lower lip briefly before drawing away and looking down at him. He was going to have to change the sheets before bed because like hell he wanted to sleep on bedding Desmond had come all over. That was like the opposite of sexy. 

He wiped down Desmond’s chest and stomach with the wet towel, followed it up with the dry, and pressed light kisses into Desmond’s throat. Once he’d finished wiping Desmond down he did himself, only having to really clean up his groin. He wasn’t looking forward to changing the sheets. That would wait for a bit. He was tired. He dropped both washcloths onto the floor and laid down on his bed, pushing Desmond’s wings out of the way to do so.

Desmond kissed him back, making little complaint about further abuse to his lips. When he laid down, Desmond pulled himself close to Altair. He kept his wings out of the way once they were moved. One of them hooked loosely around Altair’s side.

“... Warm,” he muttered, though his feathers were puffed out to make himself warmer. They both still radiated heat, and Desmond was clearly in the middle of enjoying that, nuzzling against Altair.

Ah hell, Altair couldn’t help but think. He hadn’t really expected Desmond to be so cute and cuddly after he got done making sure he couldn’t walk easily for the next few hours, he’d sort of expected Desmond just to pass out. Though he also didn’t expect how much... he’d like it either. Altair curved one of his wings over Desmond, blocking out the light overhead a bit. With the light Altair’s feathers almost looked golden.

He gave Altair a tired, satisfied smile. “You better come back to me.” Desmond tucked his head against Altair’s shoulder, throat vibrating with a gentle humming. He was too exhausted to think about what he was saying, and was pretty much falling asleep already, even though he didn’t really want tomorrow to come.

Altair looked down at Desmond, who was basically asleep now and could only think one thing: ah fuck.

\--  
The others knew better than to bother him before he left. As a rule the flock didn’t like to make a big deal out of this stuff. They hated doing it and hated making it into something, Making it into something would have shown the humans how much they hated it. Even more so than humans avians were social creatures. They stayed in a flock, even ferals did, except for lone men who’d pissed off whoever ran the local flock where they lived. Altair didn’t like leaving especially and he was nervous about leaving because he didn’t like being too far from Desmond. Over the past few weeks it had become a mild tick whenever he couldn’t get up and look at him in under five minutes. That was the sort of shit that happened when your flock leader told you to keep an eye on the new fledgling. He really hoped it went away once Desmond finished molting.

He had a thin, light, bag strapped to his back, clipping across his chest. It weighed only a few pounds and had a change of clothes in it and enough money to just either ditch his old clothes and buy new ones, or wash them as he needed them. That and a knife was all he was bringing with him. Any more and it’d be too heavy, weigh him down too much.

It was windy outside the compound, and hot, the wind buffered at Altair’s wings a he knew there were plenty of warm thermals to rise on. It was days like these he could almost, almost, achieve powered lift. But his wings or muscles weren’t big enough for that. He was about to start going up the tower when he heard someone behind him.

Desmond had burst from Altair’s room clad in a pair of briefs. He wasn’t even sure if they were his own, but he knew two things. One, Altair was a dick and didn’t wake him up before he planned to leave, and two, Altair forgot the feather he said he would take with him. He ran through the hall, and out into the field with it clutched in his hand. It hurt to move that rigorously, but the feather was really important for some reason, and dammit, Altair was not going to leave without it.

“Altair!” His wings opened to slow him down, and almost got lifted slightly when they also caught wind. Desmond stopped and groaned, panting more from pain than exertion as he pressed his hand against his lower back. “You’re a fucking jerk, you know that?” He waved the golden feather, brows drawn together. “Weren’t you gonna at least say goodbye...?”

“Desmond, what the hell are you doing up?” meaning up and walking. He was more concerned with that than whatever dumb reason Desmond thought he needed to be up. He moved over to Desmond, keeping his wings close and in check so he didn’t get blown all over the place.

He frowned, straightening back up, though it did hurt. “The feather...?” Desmond pushed it into Altair’s face. “You said you’d take it, and you forgot it.” 

“Oh,” right, he had forgotten. He had other things on his mind, especially this morning when he’d been getting ready. He took the golden feather from Desmond and reached behind his back. By feel he opened up the thin backpack and slid it in, using his fingers to make sure it would lay flat next to a shirt. “Thanks for bringing it to me, but really you shouldn’t be up after last night,” last night which he could still obviously see evidence of on Desmond’s chest. If Bill was doing this as a way to get back at him for fucking his son he was going to love this. Fucking human,

Desmond grabbed Altair’s face and kissed him hard. “Shut up, I’ll be fine.” He let him go, wings low behind him, feathers ruffled. He looked down, opened his mouth, and then looked back up at him. “I’ll miss you.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was what came to his voice easier.  
“Come on, go already. The longer you stand here the longer it takes for you to get back.” Desmond gave Altair a little push toward the tower.

“Make up your mind already,” Altair said just so he didn’t feel like his voice was caught in his throat. “First you want me to stay, now go. I’ll never leave at this rate,” he grabbed the ladder. “I’ll be back soon,” he told Desmond, looking at him, and then started to climb, his wings tight to his back. The tower was made for avians though and accounted for their wingspan.

At the top of the tower Altair unfurled his wings and he sighed in delight. Oh he loved flying. More than anything he loved flying. The wind up here was stronger than it was down on the ground and all Altair had to do was put his wings in the right position, unplant his feet and the wind itself picked him up off the platform. In three strokes of his wings and arms he was fully airborne. He waved down at Desmond before turned his head upward to gain altitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story you should let us know :D


	12. Altitude Sickness

It had been hard without Altair being there. Desmond didn’t think he’d notice the lack of him that badly, but honestly, it was pretty obvious. The day he left, Desmond went back to Altair’s room, changed the sheets and cleaned up all of his stray feathers. He spent a lot of time with Connor, and let Yusuf fuss over his wings while more and more of his feathers grew in. They’d become a mix of blues, blacks and orange red among the feathers that were not golden. 

Getting back into the rhythm of training got easier, especially when it became time to learn how to fly. Connor helped him out quite a bit, and in four weeks’ time, the two of them were flying over the field, and beginning to learn the aerial acrobatics that Rauf was the master of. It quickly became clear that Desmond would never be good at it, with his wingspan breaching that of even Edward’s - the preening day when they’d all bet on it and finally resolved it with Desmond and the flock leader standing back to back was quite the experience.

The days kept passing without any sign of Altair, and Desmond continued to grow uneasy. He ignored it for another month, and then a few more weeks. It didn’t feel _right_ , and the voices in the archive weren’t making him feel any better. He demanded to meet with his father. Two months and nearly three weeks was a long time to be gone. Desmond wanted to know where Bill had sent him, and what he told him to do.

When he couldn’t negotiate a time, Desmond stormed through the human quarters, and showed up where he worked. It didn’t look as dark and scary as he remembered it being when he was a kid, but he still couldn’t shake the uneasiness. He took a breath and swallowed, and without bothering to knock, let himself in.

“We were just holding for a-” the door opened and both Bill and Leila, who was giving a report, looked to see who would come into his office without asking, permission, or even knocking.

“Desmond?” Bill’s brow furrowed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have flying lessons right now?” because he did keep on top of what Desmond was doing, even if he could no longer regulate it.

“I’m doing just fine with them. What’s Altair doing that keeps him away for almost three months?” Desmond used a quick motion with his wings to close the door behind him. It slammed, but gave the effect he wanted. He stood with them half raised.

Bill blinked, “He’s on an important mission,” he said, “these things can take a good amount of time,” that wasn’t even a lie. It wasn’t easy for an avian with wings like Altair to move around in normal society, outside of their organization. “Did you come all the way here and interrupt me ask me why it’s taking Altair so long to do his job?” Oh give him strength, Bill was not happy how this turned out. “You can ask him when he returns why he took so long.”

“I asked you what he was doing,” Desmond scowled. “Not why he is taking so long. Don’t sidestep my question, you always do that.” He glanced at Leila, and then back at his father. “You also stopped trying to stick your nose in what I was doing since you sent him away. What happened to ‘I just want to see my son,’ huh?” His wings folded again, more so because the room was small and built for humans, not the span of his wings. Desmond’s feathers still bristled.

Bill scowled and got to his feet, putting his hands on his desk. “He’s on an important mission. One you don’t need to know about because you’re too young to go on them,” he just ignored the rest of Desmond’s accusations or questions. “Now see yourself out before I have you escorted out. You can’t just barge in here. I have important business to get to and can’t be around answering every question you have. If you’re so curious, you can ask Edward. He knows about Altair’s mission.” Or at least part of it. Edward knew about as much as Altair had. Bill knew more than either of them, and hadn’t shared all of it.

His wings flared again, beyond his control. They probably hit things, and honestly, Desmond didn’t really care. “You sent him out, and you didn’t tell anyone where. Do you think I haven’t asked Ed? Why else do you think I came through here when you wouldn’t agree to meet me? I’m not stupid, and you can take five minutes to talk to your son.”

Desmond’s eyes flashed, flickering as they narrowed.

“Leila,” Bill turned to the woman still standing there looking out of place, “Will you excuse us.”

“Of course sir,” and she bid a hasty retreat, slinking around Desmond’s big wings to get out of the office.

Bill stood up straight and put his hands behind his back authoritatively. “Fine,” he sighed, “I will take the time to play into your hissy fit,” he said, unamused by Desmond’s antics. “And once I do you’re going to leave and we can both go back to doing the work we need to do.”

Desmond folded his wings, shuffling to get them to lay against his back. “Fine. Tell me then.” He didn’t once look away from Bill, nictitating membrane flicking over his eyes while he stared unblinkingly as if his father were either a threat or a target. 

It was an instinct, really. Blinking, regardless of how brief, could end up with death, or when hunting, loss of prey, and therefore a meal. Though slightly opaque, they kept the eye wet and protected while still allowing visual feedback. Coupled with Eagle Vision, sight could pretty much be unhindered.

He crossed his arms, and growled a bit. Desmond was honestly sick of his father’s shit, and trusted him even less.

“I don’t know what you expect to hear, son. There’s a man we needed to have taken out and a hornet’s nest shaken up. We do what we always do with a hit like this and send one of you, because you people scare the _shit_ out of humans,” sometimes it was hard to remember that. Especially when you dealt with avians all the time. That avians were better at just about everything as well as stronger, faster, and more agile. “Altair had this mission. And now he’s carrying it out and knowing him he won’t come back until the mission is complete,” because as much as Altair hated listening to Bill when he was on a mission he did it to completion. “When he comes back isn’t a thing I can control.”

“Alright, so where did he have to go?” Desmond hadn’t relaxed. “How long does someone have to be gone before you begin to think something might have gone wrong?” He was somewhat less wound up, but still angry. Desmond had forgotten how much he hated talking to Bill.

“Some missions can go on for months,” not a lie, “the more difficult ones, or ones that require more precision; years. Telling you where he went wouldn’t make much of a difference. You don’t know where it is,” also not a lie. He’d kept Desmond close while he was growing up, and made sure he knew only the things he needed to know.

“Doesn’t matter that I won’t know where it is,” Desmond’s frown deepened, “I want to know.” He couldn’t just explain the bad feeling he was having to his father. His father was the last person who would understand a damn thing about it. “And I know they can go on for a long time, it still doesn’t answer my question. Besides. I thought they had to be sent out in pairs.”

“Normally yes,” Bill said, he still wasn’t answering Desmond’s question about where though. To someone like him it wasn’t important. “But avians are different. One avian is comparable to four of my men,” though he loathed to admit that. “I don’t need to send two, and that’s besides the fact that avians are so visible around normal people. Now are we done here?”

Desmond growled again. “There’s something wrong here that you’re not telling me. I’ll find out where you sent him by myself.” He turned and stalked off without leaving much room for a response, not that he wanted to hear it anyway. Storming through the hallways wasn’t as hard as it appeared to be, most people just got out of his way to avoid the angry avian. He hardly looked like the nineteen-year-old he had been half a year ago.

He looked up at the little cameras by the ceiling, tiny electronic eyes that kept tabs on everyone within the compound. There were markedly more in the human hallways, and they made Desmond uncomfortable. He’d have to figure out how he would be getting his hands on where Altair was sent, especially since he was so conspicuous and honestly didn’t have the skills to find that out. 

Desmond brought the problem to Connor after dinner while pushing the last bits of his food around on the plate. That was when the idea hit him. Ziio freely moved between the avian and human wings. “Can you ask your mom to have someone meet me?”

Connor gave Desmond a look like he was getting another mind numbingly stupid idea. “You pissed off your dad again?”

He shrugged a little with his wings. “He won’t tell me where he sent Altair, and you know, I already told you that I’ve got a bad feeling about it, I’m pretty sure something’s not right. Haytham told me he’s supposed to have sent Altair with a partner.” Desmond looked over at him. “I’m hoping I can get Becca to do me a favor... but I don’t know. And I would’ve asked Leo but...” Desmond shivered. “I think he wants to do weird things to my wings.”

Connor’s expression didn’t change, but he was vaguely amused. “Alright, alright. Leonardo won’t do anything to you though. He knows he can’t.”

Desmond gave him a wide eyed joke of a frown. “Come on, your mom’s way nicer, and not in that weird way Leo is.”

“We still have to talk to my father about it.”

“But he’ll say-”

Connor gave Desmond a look that shut him up. They wouldn’t get far sneaking around behind Haytham’s or Edward’s backs, and it would be better to involve them sooner rather than later.

“Can we do this now, then?” Desmond asked, gathering up his dishes.

Finding the elder Kenways wasn’t that hard. It was late, and the day was coming to an end, so the both of them were actually in their rooms. Otherwise, it was a rare thing to find them there. Connor knocked on his father’s door, and Desmond fidgeted.

Haytham was writing in his journal. It was a habit he’d picked up when Edward took over the flock, more as a way to express his exasperation about his father’s incompetence than anything else. He had a bookshelf filled with them though he didn’t ever reread them, or let people look at them. They were private affairs. He looked at his door when there was a knock.

He closed his journal and got up from his desk to see who it was. Normally no one bothered him after dinner. He didn’t have much time alone, to himself, so he saved it when he did. So whoever was at his door better have had a good reason.

Haytham’s brows went up in surprise when he saw who it was, then his forehead furrowed. “What do you two boys want?” he asked Desmond and Connor.

“Desmond wants to find out where Altair was sent.”

“Uh. Because he was sent alone, and I don’t have a good feeling about it- I don’t really know why or how to explain it.” Desmond felt like he had to explain himself, and do it quickly. “I went to... Bill about it, he won’t tell me anything.”

“Well of course he wouldn’t tell you anything. You’re too young to worry about our missions. The both of you are. Altair is competent to a fault. And, if he was dead; we’d know,” because the Templars would have files on it and they’d find those files. “Is this all you bothered me for?”

“Shouldn’t you or Ed know?” Desmond frowned. Haytham wasn’t treating him much differently than his father had. The parallels actually pissed him off a little. It showed in his wings, feathers flaring even though they remained folded behind him. “I feel like something isn’t right, I need to know where he is.” Even though knowing that wouldn’t bring him much peace of mind, he felt like he needed to know.

Connor’s gaze went from Desmond to Haytham, lips twitching into a vague frown. “... Father, he is right, though.” If Ed didn’t know, Haytham should, as he was pretty much the acting leader of the flock. Why they wouldn’t know where one of their own was supposed to be wasn’t normal. 

Haytham frowned at the both of them, “Edward and I are both aware of the situations. The question is what makes you think you need to be? You two know as much as you need to know, that Altair is on a mission. Where, or what he’s doing is not a concern to either of you. You’re both too young to know everything and even if you weren’t the flock’s mission operates on a need to know basis,” he gave Desmond a look. “I know you imprinted on Altair, Desmond, but your downy feathers are gone now. He is not your concern, and now, neither are you to him when he gets back.”

Desmond’s wings twitched, wanting to flick out. “So you know where he is? Do you really?” He was skeptical and irritated, and had to stop and collect himself. “I know, but I’ve been getting this feeling that something is wrong, and I’m not going to ignore it. I told Bill I’d find out where he went, and I will, whether or not I’m supposed to know.”

Haytham sighed. When Altair got home he was going to smack him for taking so damn long that Desmond got anxious and pissy. What was the point of even having a chain of command if the people on the very bottom rung didn’t listen to their superiors? He was completely sure this shit didn’t happen with ferals. Why couldn’t obedience be instinct? It’d certainly make his life a hell of alot easier. “He’s in South America,” Haytham said, “and last time he contacted us he was _fine_ ,” and he had been. That had been some weeks ago but that was rather normal. Things happened and what was asked of them was never easy. “Altair has been on missions that have lasted longer than this.”

Desmond backed off, not feeling any better since hearing that, but he had a place, so Altair wasn’t just gone, he was somewhere. Somewhere that he didn’t know anything about, but somewhere. “That’s all I wanted to know. … Honestly... you know I can’t do anything with that.” He couldn’t. What he was taught strictly related to two things. First, before his wings, it was how to be an assassin. Second was how to be an avian. He was taught about climates, and different types of terrain and how to survive in them, but where they were, how to get there, they were nothing but names. Sad, really, but a demonstration of the extent his life was controlled. It was as if he was made to be dropped off somewhere, complete a mission, and then be picked up, no in between traveling experienced.

Connor was glad that it seemed to be enough for Desmond, and watched him walk off before turning back to Haytham. “I’m sorry that we bothered you, Father,” he said with a little stiffness. He was worried about Desmond, though he could only guess how he felt. “I think... Altair means a lot to him, but that aside, I also think that his feelings of uneasiness are... valid? He’s told me about things like this before.” Connor had no word for it other than something similar to foresight, not that it had ever been particularly accurate, just good or bad feelings.

He had waited at the end of the hall, and when it was clear that Connor wouldn’t be following soon, turned to the path that would lead him to the archive. It was a crackshot idea, especially since he wasn’t supposed to be handling the artifacts, but he had to try something at least.

Haytham rolled his eyes, “He’s just a stupid boy who misses someone too much,” he said. He sometimes had similar feelings about Ziio when she was away, that she was in danger. She never was, but it didn’t stop him from stressing out needlessly. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid Connor. Knowing him, he won't but we can’t always be around to watch him. Since he’s your friend just... keep an eye on him.”

“I will, Father.” When Connor turned to Desmond, he was gone from where he’d been at the end of the hall. He sighed, and proceeded to look for him. Rather than go to their connected room, Connor turned toward the archive. A yawn had him hesitate. He knew it was late, but he thought he’d at least check up on Desmond before going to bed. 

“Desmond!” Connor caught up with him in the hall that led to the locked door to the archives. He always felt uneasy here, but unlike Desmond, did not hear the voices. It had been a long time since he had even mentioned them, though Connor was sure Desmond still heard them. He watched Desmond kind of flinch, like he’d been caught stealing something, and look back at Connor guiltily. “Just making sure you’re doing alright.” Connor raised his hands peaceably, and joined Desmond in front of the door when he conceded.

“I feel like something went horribly wrong... or it will.” Desmond sounded like a record on loop. Not exactly broken, but repeating the same tracks.

Connor placed a gentle hand against Desmond’s brightly colored wings. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t fall asleep in here again,” he said with a small smile, hoping he’d see it mirrored on Desmond’s face.

Desmond relaxed noticeably, and actually laughed quietly. “I won’t, but I guess I can’t convince you to leave now can I?” He reached out and covered the lock with his fingers, glow in his eyes matching a glow that poured out of the lines and shapes on the door that led toward the mechanism. It clicked and Desmond’s feathers rose somewhat. He pushed open the door, and let Connor in behind him.

It was like watching dirt coming off of his hands in a bucket full of water. Desmond was almost instantaneously less tense, as if the atmosphere of the room lifted and washed it away. Connor couldn’t help but feel calmer. He looked over at Desmond when he heard him laugh at some secret joke he couldn’t hear, and then say something he couldn’t understand, but felt like it was familiar. 

“What?”

Desmond just shook his head, “I’ll tell you about it later.” Connor opened his mouth to object, but Desmond beat him to it. “All of it, don’t worry about it.” He moved toward the pedestals around the room where each artifact was cradled in their own stands. The Apple of Eden, or one of them, at least, the Crystal Ball, something that was thought to be an energy cell, and more that acted as keys as well as journals in their own right. There were more of them out there, much more than they had in this room.

He rested his palm against the clear, glass-like ball, and it warmed beneath his touch. Connor protested behind him, and Desmond just shushed him. “It’s fine, nothing’s happening to me. See?” He turned around with it, though it glowed gently in his palm, there was nothing expressly wrong. “Wanna touch it?” Desmond grinned, and brought it over to him.

“Why’s it so warm? I thought this thing is a glass ball.” Connor gave Desmond a skeptical look, who only offered a winged shrug in reply. Nothing happening his ass. When Desmond sat down, Connor did too, their wings spread in a relaxed circle around the both of them. “What are you trying to do?”

Desmond shrugged again. “I dunno. Talk to it?” He looked at it fondly, cradled in his palm now instead of the cold pedestal. “No one’s touched them in... a long time.”

Connor had always thought Desmond was a little weird, but it had yet to prove itself to be a bad thing. He sighed. Of course no one had touched them. They were dangerous, and easily manipulated the minds of men, of humans. No one was really sure what they would do to an avian, but he supposed Desmond wasn’t doing any worse for the wear at least spending time with them. Insofar, he hadn’t had the urge to touch them. Or, at least, Connor hadn’t. “Desmond. Hey, Desmond, don’t fall asleep like that.” Connor reached out to tip Desmond’s face up. His eyes were half lidded, and washed over with Eagle Vision.

“... ‘M not.” 

Connor sounded like he was talking to him through a mouth full of cotton. He saw Connor’s distress through a weird, gray filter, and told him he was fine before he stopped concerning himself with the place he was, and began feeling what the artifact in his lap was telling him. 

Desmond was washed over with sensations. The wind, through his feathers, against his face. He was flying, but he couldn’t make out the shapes below him, it was just a feeling of something green, tall, foggy. Landing, with wings snapped out, legs spread, arms out to grab the branch - rough, damp under his hands. It was hot and wet, like breathing water, the air was thick with it. Dark, and then lights, but he couldn’t see them, he couldn’t see what they illuminated, they were just glowing circles. Harsh, flashlights? 

The world he was in spun, not enough air, not enough wind - pain. Thigh, stomach. Desmond heard a sharp screeching cry, and was unaware that it was one that he had made. Away. He had to get away, safe in the trees, but pain... foliage, thick, wet, smells like rain, but feels more like blood. 

It was all too disorienting, and Connor pushed the Crystal Ball from his hands. The sound of it rolling across the floor brought him back. For a long time, Desmond said nothing, staring somewhere on the plane of Connor’s chest. A lot of it didn’t mean anything to him, he didn’t understand it.

“Can I... sleep in your room?” Desmond asked, breaking Connor’s one-sided, somewhat frantic conversation. His voice was quiet, and he felt really small. The Crystal Ball had been huge, expansive, even though he had just been feeling things inside of it, it just went on, encompassing the sensations and emotions of... everything, anywhere, at any time. It scared him, even though it had told him Altair was not dead, Desmond didn’t want to ask it where he was, if he was okay now, when that had been.

Connor heaved a sigh, letting it out slowly. “Must have been something heavy,” he said, just as quietly as he stood up, helping Desmond alongside him. “Yeah. Do me a favor though, don’t come in here and touch this stuff again.” He hadn’t heard anything make a sound like Desmond had just then. It chilled him, how painful it sounded. Connor didn’t want to ask what happened, not while it was so tender and recent, but he noticed Desmond took up a slight limp, favoring his left leg, and left side in general.

It wasn’t until they were in Connor’s room that Desmond spoke up again. “I think... he got shot.” He checked himself again and again, running his fingers over his skin, expecting to find wounds. The initial pain had faded, but he was left with a deep ache in his side and his leg. Of course, there were no scars, no wounds, but he had felt, as if in slow motion now that he thought back to it, things - bullets - ripping through him from behind. Desmond pressed his hands against his thigh, staring down at his fingers.

“I heard birds. Like us.” Desmond sounded detached from his own voice.

“He’s... alive then, he’s okay, so he’ll come back?” Connor was really bad at physical comfort, and he felt bad knowing that Desmond responded best to it.

Desmond shook his head. “He forgot. Too many gold feathers.”


	13. That You've Just Forgotten

Since he'd spoken with Connor and Desmond he'd heard nothing. Meaning there was nothing to worry about. He knew Connor would tell him if anything happened that he needed to know. Since he heard nothing he had to assume everything was well. So Haytham went about his normal day to day routine and doing what he normally did.

Haytham detected something slightly amiss a few days after he'd spoken to the boys. He didn't miss Connor giving Desmond a look whenever Haytham was around, clear to indicate that while they weren't saying anything there obviously _was_ something. He hadn't brought it up yet though. He was waiting for the boys to come to them. He trusted his own son enough to do what was needed, a trait that needed to be shared by Bill but wasn't. Stubborn man wasn't doing himself any favors.

Desmond finally came to Haytham when he couldn’t stand it. Of course, it had been a grand total of three days before he literally could not take another day. In addition to Connor’s urging him to tell Haytham what had happened, Yusuf had picked up on it, and simply thinking about it was a downward spiral. It didn’t help that it had also decided to become a key element of his dreams.

“Haytham.” He was without Connor for once, and infinitely more uneasy for it. “I... something happened, I don’t really think you or Ed will believe me, I just really need to talk about this.” Desmond could not stand still, and rubbing his thigh with the heel of his hand had become a nervous tick.

Haytham gave Desmond an easy look, the kid was more skittish than before. "While I think you're seriously over reacting," Haytham told him, "It's not good you're so worked up about this. So, just tell me. I'll tell Ed if he needs to know.”

“It has to do with the artifacts. The Crystal Ball. I... uh, I used it... to see if Altair was okay, to see that I really was just worked up over nothing. I know no one’s supposed to touch them but there’s no other way.” Desmond found the wall much more interesting than struggling to actually look Haytham in the eye up until now.

His gaze flicked to his face and focused again. “I felt... I dunno, things, where he was, and then a lot of pain. There were birds, later, or... there will be, he meets and forgets but he was- is alive? I think they shot him. I don’t know what that feels like but I felt it. Abdomen and thigh, from behind.” Desmond gestured on his own body. “He won’t come back, not on his own. I got the feeling he... forgot who he is,” he finished lamely, at a loss for words to explain what he felt from the artifact. “It felt wild, like... he’s feral.”

It wouldn’t be much of a stretch. Injured, losing blood, but tending to the wounds without explicit medical attention in the middle of a south American jungle could end up with all kinds of infection no matter how well he bandaged himself up. Shock, weakness, simply adapting to survive, the most primary objective, one that the avians were incredibly in touch with. As opposed to humans, who seemed to have been dulled to the survival instinct. 

A trained avian, one as an assassin, like Altair though, going feral like that was unheard of. Then again, none of them had ever been lost to the compound, or... no one ever checked back for those who never returned.

“You touched one of the artifacts?” Haytham demanded, because to him that was the important part of what Desmond had said. Unlike Desmond Haytham wasn’t worried about Altair, he had every confidence in the man to do what needed to be done and come back safely. They wouldn’t even consider the possibility that he was in danger for a year or a body was recovered by either side. “Desmond,” his feathers bristled, feathers fluffing up a bit, “we might not be able to stop you from going into the archive but there is a _very_ specific reason as to why you aren’t allowed to _touch_ them. They’re dangerous and warp whatever they touch. Whatever you _think_ you saw or felt wasn’t real.”

“And what if it was? How long before something seems like it might have gone wrong to you?” Desmond’s wings flared slightly to match Haytham’s bristling feathers. “I _know_ what I felt. A week, a month, he’s not going to make it back. Hell, I don’t think he even _remembers_.” He stared at Haytham, eyes hardened. He’d expected to not be believed, but not shut down so resolutely. 

His wings closed up again, shoulders squaring. “They’re one of the few things I know, for a fact, won’t lie to me. It’s more than I can say for most of the people I talk to.” Desmond’s lip was set in a snarl, but he took a step back. 

Haytham didn’t have a very big wingspan, he knew that. He could barely glide without a strong head wind. He was self conscious about it. So he didn’t flare his wings out like he wanted to, to show dominance. It wouldn’t help. Desmond’s wings dwarfed his comically. He tucked his wings close to remain in control. “I know you think it isn’t fair. Or that we’re lying to you. But there are just some things you don’t need to know. And there is a _reason_ why this flock has remained as it is for so long. Because we listen to our superiors. And as your superior, I’m telling you to leave the artifacts alone and to not worry about Altair. He knows the risks as well as any of us, if he was hurt he’d have let us know. You’re making this into something this doesn’t have to be. Don’t let your feelings get in the way of what’s fact.”

His eyes flickered. “Might as well file that he’s dead. I can promise you that he can’t come back on his own. Really convenient that he doesn’t have a partner out with him this time, isn’t it. Especially since my dad was the one who sent him out.” Desmond regarded Haytham in silence for a few moments before turning away. 

Saying Desmond was angry would be an understatement. He didn’t mind that he had to be kept out of the loop on a lot of things, he’d grown up outside of the circle of information. He was used to it. He supposed that he was used to being ignored, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right. 

Haytham’s shoulders relaxed when Desmond left. He watched the kid walk away and leave. He frowned to himself and went about his normal business. At one point he had to go talk with Bill about something, just about food. Rauf and Yusuf were complaining about it. Avians were more sensitive to just about everything and apparently some of the meat they’d been feeding to everyone was bad. Not terribly so, but bad food wasn’t good for anyone.

“I’ll have our cooks make sure its fine,” Bill said after Haytham finished with him.

“Bill,” Haytham said, speaking offhandedly, “I was simply curious why you didn’t send Malik or Ezio with Altair.”

Bill frowned at him, “You going to make something of it?”

“You’re usually such a stickler for the rules is all,” Haytham shrugged, his wings making it seem like he was more disinterested than he was. “I have every confidence in Altair and that he’ll return safely. But I was just wondering,” he rose his brows at Bill.

“Lower security risk,” and that was interesting. “One avian is less visible than two.”

“Of course. Good day Bill,” Haytham said and left Bill’s office. He headed straight for the avian wing and found Edward walking with Connor. “Edward,” Haytham said, causing them both to look, “I need to speak with you. Now. Connor, if you’d excuse us.”

Connor blinked, head canted somewhat. He was going to ask why, or if everything was alright - specifically with Desmond - but the look on Haytham’s face was enough. Nor was he really in the mood to start an argument. It did mean that he could go find Desmond, though. He gave a nod, and went back the way he and Edward had come. 

Finding Desmond wasn’t hard, he was sulking in his room when Connor let himself in. Really, Connor was barely a year younger than him, and he felt more mature than his friend. “It’s just me,” he said when Desmond looked up, somewhat startled.

“Your dad totally blew me off,” he grumbled, giving Connor a half-hearted glare. He knew it wasn’t his fault, but he was still seething midst all of the brooding.

Connor stayed near the door. “He’s talking to Edward about something, but just forget about it for a bit, it’s not good for you.” He uncrossed his arms, hoping that a little smile might do a bit of good for Desmond. “Come on, Rauf and Yusuf have been going easy on you, let’s fly around a bit, catch you up.”

Desmond really didn’t want to, but Connor was too stubborn to let the proposal drop. He knew this from past experience. He did wait until Connor had to force him off of the bed before going along with him, though.

“What is it son?” Edward asked, his huge wings didn’t fit easily against his back. Haytham was always slightly envious that he’s father and son to get the larger wings. It was like Altair and his father and grandfather, only instead of skipping a generation Haytham just got short wings. They were bigger than Rauf’s, but not by much, though he was too tall and big for them to be of any use to him like Rauf’s were.

“I think we might have a situation.”

Edward blinked and went from easy going to on point. Haytham only came to Edward about things when they were serious and while Haytham did act like the leader most of the time he knew that Bill respected his father a whole hell of alot more than he respected Haytham. “What situation?”

“In private,” and they stepped down the hall into Haytham’s room, unlike Edward’s room they were guaranteed to not be interrupted here. “I assume you know Desmond’s being a nuisance.”

“With thinking Altair’s in danger. Yeah I’ve heard,” Edward rolled his eyes, clearly he thought about as much about it as Haytham did.

“He went into the archive. The Ball gave him a vision.”

“What? No one is supposed to touch the artifacts, they’re locked up.”

“So I’ve told him. He said Altair might have... gone feral-

“Don’t joke about that,” Edward said lowly.

“I would never,” Haytham said, offended his father would think he’d make light of such a... condition. There were few, if no, flocks like theirs in the world. Most avians were not, as most people said, ‘civilized’, and lived on the fringes of civilization. They were not animals, but were close enough for most people. It was rare a feral avian made it into civilization, it made their flock rare, special, and terrifying. That avians _could_ be civilized and could function as normal people just drove it home to the humans that there wasn’t much separating their species and if they got together in a large number like their own flock they could be devastating to anyone who got in their way. It wasn’t easy to fight something that was stronger than you in every way, and could fly, and could fight you in the same level you fought it. “Desmond said he was hurt, and that Bill set it up.”

All of feathers on Edward’s wings stood up on end, “And you believe that?”

“Not entirely,” Haytham admitted. “But... enough to doubt. I had to speak with Bill today, because of Rauf and Yusuf’s complaint. I brought it up. Bill gave me more reason to doubt.”

“What did he say?” Edward folded his arms, his wings were opening and closing a bit, unable to stay still.

“I asked why he didn’t send Malik with Altair as usual, or at least Ezio. He said it was for a ‘lower security risk’. Which we both know is bullshit. He sends us when he wants to send a message. One avian is good, but two is something to be afraid of.”

“You believe Desmond than?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Haytham said slowly, “More I think we should look a bit more thoroughly at Altair’s mission. I sensed something off when Bill briefed us but it was nothing. Now though-

“So did I.” Edward was quiet for several minutes, Haytham just waited for Edward to speak. “He’s lying to us. We need to figure out about what and why.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” and Haytham smiled a little.

Flying did little to take his mind off of the entire ordeal, but it did calm Desmond down. He rode a warm draft up, opposite of Connor who had to flap a couple of times to keep up. Either way, he was not in the mood to play, even when Connor folded his wings into a shallow dive. Honestly, he was rather lazy about it.  
He didn’t even land properly, opting to tumble into the pile of hay when he got close, wings tucked. Desmond pushed himself up and shook his wings out. “So I can go back to trying to cultivate mushrooms with my sulking?” He was smiling though, and Connor laughed at his mussed hair, and the straw sticking out of his feathers.

“No, you can be unhappy about it, but sulking won’t do anything for you.”

Desmond was content with following Connor back into the compound after he’d picked the hay out of his feathers and ruffled if out of his hair. They were both equally irritated when they couldn’t get actual food - well, they could get anything except for meat - in the cafeteria, but ate what they were given.

“You don’t think he’s actually going to ignore all of it, is he?” Connor looked up when Desmond spoke. 

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t want you getting into it. You did actually use one of the artifacts, I didn’t see him being too happy about that at all.” Connor dipped his bread in what could only be described as bland vegetable mush. It was supposed to be curry, but he’d already eaten the rice.

Desmond fussed with the lip of his cup. “Yeah well, nobody wants me involved in much of anything. Not my fault I can get into the archive or hear them.”

Connor sat up a bit, “About that, actually. The talking. You said something and it sounded familiar, like I should have known what it meant. It reminded me of when Father told me I used to understand the birds.”

“Oh, I don’t know, really.” Desmond shrugged, wings rising behind him. “It was a joke about that. They called you bird-talker. But it was kind of more like... birdbrain. Because you forgot it all. I said that you just stopped listening.”

“Those old pieces of junk actually have a sense of humor,” Connor said dryly, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I meant to ask if you’d teach me,” Connor groused when Desmond wouldn’t let the birdbrain nickname drop. 

Desmond tipped his head, the movement slow. “Teach?” You didn’t teach it. At least, Desmond hadn’t been taught, it was more like remembering something. He was at a loss. “I can’t teach it, you already know. I told you,” Desmond sat back, “you just forgot.” He called him birdbrain again, trilling rather than actually speaking.

Connor glared at him. “Don’t call me names when I don’t understand them. I know that’s what you did.” 

Desmond only grinned and reached out for Connor’s plate. “You done with that?” He took it anyway, since the plate was empty, and put the dishes where they belonged.


	14. He's My Son (Trademark Kenway Rage)

The unamused look on Ziio’s face was familiar to Haytham when he showed up. “What is it Haytham?” she asked, clearly in no mood for him or what he had to say. She could be so cold sometimes, especially to him. It was like she couldn’t decide if she was okay with being with an avian or not. Peer pressure probably.

“I need some help,” he said because he knew she loved it when he admitted he needed her, and not just physically.

“Something the mighty avian needs the help of a human for? Now that’s something you don’t hear every day,” she said, now amused with him. When she wasn’t cold she was warm and Haytham knew she hadn’t been as cranky to see him as she’d first appeared.

He put his hands on her desk, “I need a mission file. The last avian mission.”

“The one with Rauf and-

“No. The current one,” Haytham said.

She pursed her lips at him, “Those files are sealed until the operative is debriefed. You know that.”

“Please, Ziio? For me?” it wasn’t the first time he’d asked for this stuff, nor was it the first time he manipulated her though looks. Connor wasn’t good at it, but Haytham nearly pouted at her.

She scowled at him, “Fine,” she rolled her eyes.

“You’re the best, my dear,” and he laid a soft, swift, kiss, on her cheek.

She grinned in amusement as she started to print something out, “I know.”

Once the file was done printing Haytham took them, “Thank you my dear you’ve been a fantastic help,” and she laughed when he took her hand and kissed it. “Next time we should meet under less trying circumstances.”

“Oh get out of here,” and she shooed him away.

He left with a grin and headed back for the avian wing and started to read the mission briefing. His brows went up in slow increments as he read until his eyebrows joined with his hairline. “My,” he said slowly as he drew near his father’s room, “you’ve been a bad boy, Bill.”

 

Haytham found Edward in his room only because this was Edwards designated ‘don’t bother me unless someone is dying’ time. Haytham didn’t bother to knock, he just went in. “The hell what are you- oh, Haytham,” Edward was sitting up now, though he had been laying around.

“Bill’s been lying to us,” Haytham said.

“Well we knew that,” Edward said, unimpressed.

“And... Desmond was right. He sent Altair to either die, or get hurt so badly he’d...”

Edward’s wings suddenly snapped open, Haytham hadn’t even had to finish before Edward was furious. “He would dare?” Edward asked blue eyes dangerous and Haytham was reminded very pointedly why Edward was the leader of the flock and not him, even if Haytham did do the boring stuff Edward hated to do. Edward was mild mannered when he needed to be, and rather passive. But his father could be like fire in ways Haytham was amazed by. Haytham kept his wings close to his back reminded very pointedly who the leader was by the display of dominance.

“It looks so,” Haytham said.

“Why the hell would he do this to us?” Edward demanded.

“I believe that also has to do with Desmond. You’re aware of his and Altair’s more physical relationship?”

“What of it?” because of course it meant nothing to them.

“I don’t think Bill was happy about it.”

Edward’s nictitating membrane flicked across his eye quickly and he got out of bed. “One of my flock might be feral because some human can’t handle the fact that his son found our company more appealing than them?” he growled.

“You know how Bill is. Very controlling, especially of his son. Desmond didn’t do anything unless Bill said,” and Haytham didn’t realize he was doing it at first but he was making himself look smaller in front of Edward. His leader was furious and with great spread wings Haytham was very aware of it. He half hated himself for being so weak but also knew that it wasn’t a good idea to mess with Edward either.

“Tell the flock to stay in the wing,” Edward said, suddenly calm and shit Haytham knew that look as Edward’s wings sagged a little. Something bad was going to happen. Like Haytham and even Connor, Edward had the Kenway rage. It was explosive at first but then it got sucked up and put to purpose. Edward tucked his wings behind him, now seemingly at ease. “Once you have meet me at Bill’s office. We have a bird to pluck,” and the only indication of his displeasure was a slight snarl on his lips. Edward left and Haytham waited a few seconds before going to do as he was told, kicking himself for being so meek before his father’s anger. Even if it wasn’t directed at him. Everyone saw them as running the flock together but it was times like this that reminded Haytham of how large the gulf between them really was.

Desmond was blissfully unaware of the events unfolding within the compound. Perhaps blissful wasn’t the exact word for what he was feeling, but ultimately, he was unaware that Haytham had followed up and looked into the situation.

He was trying to get airborne. Without jumping off of the tower. It took a lot of running down the field, jumping and flapping furiously, although there was a limit to how quickly Desmond could move the huge limbs. The most he got was a bit of hang time even with the light breeze. The only reason why he was trying so hard was that Connor told him he couldn’t. He was too tall, even though his wings were so large, which just made them heavier.

The others had told Haytham he could find the boys out in the training area. And he did. Desmond looked like he was trying to get powered lift off, but was struggling. He nearly scoffed, powered lift off was impossible, everyone knew that. “Boys,” he called, not needing to go over to them since his voice carried just fine. “Come inside, now. I don’t want lip, Edward’s ordered everyone inside and no I won’t tell you why; you’ll find out with the rest of the flock when its over.”

Desmond gave one last jump, struggling to bring his wings back up in time. Close, but not close enough. He landed a lot less heavily than he had been, folding them up after shaking them out to get his feathers to lie in order. 

Connor was first back inside, Desmond having to trek across the field. He paused by Haytham, looking like he wanted to say something, and ended up standing there almost until it became awkward. “You won’t understand him,” Desmond finally said, gaze not quite meeting Haytham’s. He knew what this was about without even having to ask. 

“Just get inside,” Haytham said and closed the door once he was. “Everyone is to stay inside the avian wing until further notice. Do not go into the human side of the compound, do not go into the archive,” he pointed at Desmond purposefully. Not waiting for an answer he immediately left the avian wing and headed for Bill’s office.

He found Edward waiting outside the office for him, his arms were folded and the only tenseness was in his wings. “Took you long enough,” Edward grunted.

“Well I’m here now. Have you thought what you wanted to say?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Edward turned and pushed the door open. Bill was sitting at his desk like Haytham had seen him last time. “Edward, Haytham, is everything all right?” since they only came together when something was wrong.

“No,” Edward said, “in fact nothing is all right,” and his feathers puffed up and his wings expanded a bit. Unlike when Haytham did it when Edward unfurled his wings it was intimidating since they were huge and black and made him look like the Morningstar.

Bill swallowed, “Edward?” he asked carefully.

“We know what you did,” he accused him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Altair. His mission to South America. The one he wasn’t supposed to come home from,” the tips of Edward’s wings brushed against the walls of Bill’s office easily and he still had wings to spare. 

“What? What are you talking about? Of course he was supposed to come home-

“Then care to explain this?” Haytham held up the papers Ziio had printed off for him. “You purposefully left important information out of our briefing and thus his. You sent him somewhere he had no hope to return alive from. Or, in the case he was as well trained as you feared, be too weak to make the flight home _or_ contact us. You expected him in such an event to go feral.”

“That’s an awful lot of speculation,” Bill said, in a sort of calm that made it obvious he was trying to not watch what he’d done blow up in his face.

“It isn’t speculation,” Haytham said. “Your own son used some artifacts to scry Altair- What? Didn’t know we could do that?”

Bill was on his feet, “You aren’t to use the artifacts!” he snapped, “That was the agreed upon negotiations for us to keep you-

“Keep us?” Edward asked quietly. “Is that what you think you are Bill? Our keepers? We are Avians, the superior race. We allow you to benefit from our existence in this place. You have a powerful scare tactic and intimidator, superior warriors and we keep you from the temptation of the artifacts by holding them. Yet you see fit to _insult us_ like this? I am not Rashid, which I know you think is a good thing. But let me remind you that this is _my_ flock and I will not see it brought low because you’re a petty human.”

“And if you didn’t have us who would you have?” Bill snapped.

Edward faltered here. Rashid had been the first avian to come to the compound. The others, including Edward, had been ‘collected’ from the outside. Babies who were born to normal people through a genetic hiccup and been rejected by their human parents. Put up for adoption and came to the notice of the Assassins and the flock. Even Ezio had been at first rejected by his family. There was no place for avians outside the wild. Or that was the general thought.

“Leo’s people would help us if you wouldn’t,” Haytham said. Often overlooked, Leonardo was on loan from the Guild, a similar organization like the Assassins only totally neutral and passive in their and Abstergo’s schemes. They strove to advance technology and allow minds to thrive unhindered by the restrictions placed on normal society.

“They’d experiment on you. You should be grateful to us. And this is how you repay us?”

“This is how _you_ repay _us_?” Edward demanded. “You try to kill a member of my flock at best or a worst hope he goes feral. You insult us to our face thinking we are birds kept in a cage for your amusement. _Do not_ forget who found all those artifacts William,” he spat the name venomously, “It was Rashid and I who did so. We keep them out of greedy human hands who can’t deny the siren song. We have done much for you. And you attempt to kill one of my men because he slept with your son?”

There was a sudden lull in the argument as if the elephant had been suddenly noticed. Then Bill’s mouth went thin and his lips pale, “I did what I needed to to protect my son.”

Edward flapped and destroyed a shelf and sent paper flying, “He isn’t your son anymore!” Edward yelled, “He is in _my_ flock. He is _my_ son. You gave up fatherhood the moment he was born avian. That was Rashid’s deal and mine. They are _my_ flock. My men. If they want to fuck like rabbits I could care less. If they want to beat each other up I could care less. But what I _do_ care about is when meddling humans get in the way of my flock functioning. Consider this a notice William. We are going to retrieve our fallen member, and when we return our deal is through. I can take plenty of insults William. God knows you’ve done your best to alienate us from humans since Rashid has died,” he pointed at William, “But this is the last one. I won’t tolerate your insults any longer. Our deal is over, consider the flock independant from now on. Haytham,” and he folded his wings to fit through the little human door and stormed out. Haytham sent a last, narrowed eye look at Bill and followed after him. When they left Bill fell back into his chair, all the air leaving his lungs.

There wasn’t exactly a place for them to gather that wasn’t in one of the flock’s rooms, and that was where most of them stayed: in their respective rooms. Desmond paced his, nervous and impatient. He would have much rather gone to the archive, but he listened to Haytham, and stayed away from it against his better judgement and instinct. It was a waiting game, and that was one game that Desmond was horribly inept at. He could hear Connor rustling in his own room, and finally just asked to come in, knocking on his door into the bathroom. 

Some company was better than none, but neither of them had anything to talk about, and sat in silence, preening each other.

Rauf knocked on Connor's door. Mainly because it was first when he walked down the hall. "Boys," he called and a moment later the door was opened by Connor. was sitting on the bed, watching them. "Come with me, Edward has ordered everyone to the archive," he said seriously, all of his normal good humor gone.

Desmond pushed himself off of the bed, following Connor and Rauf to the archive. He let out a shaky breath. There was something about the entirety of the flock being there that made his heart skip. His eyes flicked over the door, and he almost didn’t want to enter the room. He could hear the artifacts from the hallway. 

Fighting the urge to cover his ears, Desmond slipped in after Connor. The room was by no means small, but filled with the entire flock minus one, it was trying for comfort. Connor gave him a nudge, and Desmond just shook his head, jerking his thumb toward one of the pedestals. He didn’t trust English to come from his mouth. 

Rauf took his place with the others in the ring around Edward who radiated with purpose and anger. Yusuf came up next to Rauf and Rauf leaned against him. Normally he'd offer a wing but Edward's were splayed and the way they were set made him keep his tucked up close.

"Everyone," Edward said once everyone had arrived, "we've been betrayed. The humans have decided that one of our own is unworthy of the life we now live. As you all know Altaïr is on a mission and we haven't heard from him in nearly four months," Rauf frowned. He didn't like it any better than anyone else, but it had to be done. 

"It's come to my attention that William has purposely sabotaged Altaïr's mission. His personal vindication for Altaïr's... Natural inclination," any other time Rauf would have snorted that Edward had basically admitted that yes, Altaïr was basically the flock slut. But Rauf nor anyone dared say anything. Several of them did turn and look at Desmond though. Though the marks Altaïr had left were long since faded of anyone you could still catch the slightest whiff of Altaïr on Desmond lie his scent refused to be totally washed away. Rauf turned back to Edward when he started to talk again.

"It was William's intention to get Altaïr killed. I can tell you this: he isn't dead. Much worse."

"He's feral?" Rauf asked and pursed against Yusuf firmly, to remind himself he was there.

"That's what we think, yeah," Edward nodded. "As of now the flock has disengaged from the Assassins. We are independent," everyone was too surprised to say anything about that. "Don't worry though, everything will be all right. We've already got something planned. While it world itself out though I need some of you to go to South America and find Altaïr, bring him home. Do I have any volunteers?"

"I will," Rauf said despite Yusuf looking like he wished Rauf would shut up.

Desmond looked up when Ed asked for volunteers rather than assigning it out. He raised his hand when he couldn’t get ‘I’ll go,’ to come out of his mouth. Knowing he probably had no place requesting to go, but hoping he could do something finally got him to speak up, though his voice was a lot meeker than he intended. He had no experience outside of the Order, he’d never even been out locally.

Yusuf wasn’t happy about Rauf’s immediate response, and opened his mouth to speak, but Ezio beat him to it. “How many will you send? I think I speak for all of us when I say we want to bring Altair back home, able to fly the distance or not.” Ezio’s gaze passed over the faces around the room before settling back on Edward and Haytham. “Who can make it and who can’t is still important.”

There were obvious choices of those who would be best to retrieve Altair, and Desmond with his relative inexperience with navigating and even flying was not one of the best. He knew that all too well, and didn’t like what Ezio was implying, although it was true. Even Malik would have opted to go if he could fly, but as the realist of them all, he simply stood back and watched.

“Put your hand down Desmond,” Haytham said, “you don’t have the stamina for the flight.”

“I just want to send two or three. Speed is important, especially if Altair is feral like we fear. Him away from us will just make it harder to come back,” Rauf swallowed at that and they all heard the unsaid ‘if’ he could come back. 

“I’ll go with Rauf,” Haytham said which surprised him, he expected Haytham to stay. Though he supposed it made sense, if Altair could recognize Haytham enough to remember he was a flock leader it’d be easier to get him to come home.

Desmond shot Haytham a slight snarl. “It... He doesn’t remember, you’d have to take him by force...” He backed off, if only because Haytham was right, he also didn’t think he’d have the stamina. “I don’t even know if he’d understand English.” He didn’t know for sure what to expect, and he only had the incoherent sensations from the Crystal Ball to refer to. “They don’t operate like us. It’s about size, and wingspan and... feathers.”

Christ, the artifacts would not shut up. _You need to go_. “I knew he was in trouble. I need to go.”

Edward frowned, and then looked at Haytham. They couldn’t really say Desmond would slow them down honestly if Haytham was going. “Father,” Haytham said in warning, clearly he knew what Edward was about to say.

“Fine. You can come. Haytham you’re staying here.”

“What?” Rauf asked.

“Edward you can’t just leave,” Haytham said.

“You can’t fly and Altair is part of my flock. I need to go get him and if Desmond insists on going might a well let him come so we don’t find him trailing after us later. This way at least I can keep my eye on him,” Edward said, sounding very reasonable about the whole thing.

Rauf looked at Desmond, then back at Edward, “He’ll slow us down. He doesn’t have the stamina for prolonged flight-

“Then he’ll build it up while we fly. Desmond; we aren’t going to go slow for you and we aren’t going to stop. You either keep up with us or you stay behind. Is that understood?” Edward asked Desmond sternly.

“Yes, sir.”


	15. Into the Rabbit Hole

Flying with a bag, thin as it was, slung between his wings was hard to get used to, not to mention the fact that they were flying pretty much nonstop. There were plenty of times Desmond thought he’d fall right out of the sky, but he kept Rauf and Edward’s huge wingspan in view. It really was one of the best tests of his endurance though, and he quickly learned the most energy efficient way to fly according to his wing type.

The weapon on his arm was an unfamiliar weight. He’d had training with lighter versions of it that weren’t harmful, but this was a weapon strapped to his arm. The ring attached to his middle finger and fed back into the device. Just knowing that he could trigger it right up against someone and it would release with enough power to punch right through the spinal column made him giddy with undue, nervous excitement. Desmond wasn’t sure if he’d actually be able to kill something, despite being trained to do so from the first moments he could remember. 

Something was tugging him down to the clouds below them. He wasn’t sure if Ed or Rauf felt it, and pushed himself to get a little closer so he wouldn’t have to waste too much breath that could be better used to pump his wings. “Do you feel that? There’s something. Something down there.” Desmond pointed down at the layered clouds.

Edward looked down at Desmond. He hung high up on the thermals, his huge wings perfect for motionless flight as they were long and thin like an albatross.

"I feel it too," Rauf said, and Edward had to bank so he didn't overshoot the two of them. Damn Rauf able to nearly hover in place. "Feels like an artifact."

Normally Edward would order it be ignored. But they were closing in on the area Altaïr had had his mission. Avians, especially ferals, were attracted to ancient sites, especially those that contained artifacts. He could be here, or be around. "We'll check it out," Edward said and started his slow glide down, it was impossible for him to move quickly unless he had water beneath him to break his fall. Rauf angled downward and dropped like a rock. Edward watched from a high as his gray wings flashed open closer to the canopy and waited for the two big winged avians.

Desmond lined himself up and closed his wings partially and dove, much slower than Rauf had. He snapped them open, having to drop a bit through the trees, actually grabbing on to the branches. All things considered, he landed pretty well, flapping a bit more to keep himself up and not topple.

His attention was drawn down again and he began to slip down through the branches, eyes wide and slipping into Eagle Vision out of instinct. He’d never seen a wild avian, but he was seeing them now, bright outlines. Small figures, but warm figures. Desmond was afraid to move any closer, pretty much clutching to the tree. His hands grasped just fine, but his feet weren’t made to perch, and the bark was slippery.

"Don't go too far," Rauf said, like Desmond in the second sight. He'd seen wild avians once. A man and woman and their small, wingless, son. They'd attacked him on sight. He had no warm and fuzzy feelings about his wild brethren. Thankfully he'd been able to get away. "We need to wait for Edward. Though he's slow as all hell getting down," he sighed.

Desmond didn’t reply to Rauf. He didn’t move from where he was though, just staring down at all of them. He couldn’t tell much from there, and frowned. Seriously, he couldn’t stand it. Behind him, his wings rustled, folding tighter against his back.

Edward landed eventually, grabbing a branch with both hands like landing on his feet. "We get lucky?” he asked Rauf.

"Small flock of avians in the area," Rauf said.

"Good," he folded up his wings and after clearing his throat made a noise that was clearly a bird call. It was the sound he'd heard wild flock leaders make when they announced their presence to each other out when they entered new territory.

He got a reply and strange enough, the man who called back sounded _huge_

Desmond straightened up a bit, gaze flicking and unblinking. He made a soft sound, realizing that all of their attention was upward, and it wasn't exactly friendly. It wasn't as hostile as it could be either, but the fact that they were higher up wasn't helping the situation.

"We have to go down. Approach at their level." He slipped through the trees, heading away from the group of wild avians somewhat. Desmond didn't wait for there to be a yes or no from Ed, which was probably bad on his part.

“Desmond,” Edward hissed after him but the kid didn’t listen. “God damnit. Rauf, keep an eye on him,” he ordered. Rauf nodded and thanks to his shorter wings he could actually fly down to Desmond’s level.

“Desmond the hell are you doing?” Rauf asked as Edward started to slowly pick his way down. In the upper canopy there was no room for his huge wings, his or Desmond’s really.

He looked at Rauf, stopping. Desmond looked a little confused. “You don’t come in from above unless you’re attacking. Height advantage. We’re not trying to start a fight, are we?” His wings rustled, feathers raised against what felt like constant water droplets falling on them, but it was simply the size of them folded behind him. 

“I’m going down to talk,” he said simply, and continued his task, calling softly as he began to move toward the group. Desmond was more curious than afraid, and honestly, rather amazed at what he saw even with the extra visual sense. There were feathers, not just on the skin of their backs, but on their arms. Even from there, not yet at the edge of the clearing, Desmond could tell that he was taller than most every avian he saw.Except for one.

He was a brilliant, familiar hue, confident and a little blue at the edges, but wary. The gold wash gave him away - it was Altair. 

Desmond didn’t like the golden winged bird nearby him, something in him aware of how the feral hierarchy worked. He was jealous, wanting to spread his wings and flaunt their size and his own patches of gold. That wasn’t why they were here. They weren’t here to take it over, they were here to bring Altair back.

Rauf looked up at Edward who was easing himself down slowly. “Just keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Edward said, clearly seeing Desmond wasn’t going to listen to him. This was, of course, one of the reasons they hadn’t wanted to bring Desmond.

Rauf nodded and flew down to below Desmond’s level and landed on a smaller tree trying to muscle its way into some space between giants. He forced his feathers to lay flat. In the second sight he could see the other avians too, through the trees and he didn’t like it. This was a pretty big flock, almost six strong, meaning they were strong enough to fend off others from their territory. Rauf had a wingspan about equivalent to a normal, feral, avian, as was his stature. He had no idea where he’d come from before the fortress but part of him thought his parents had been feral because he was similarly sized to them. 

“Des, I know you think you’re helping but I swear to god if they attack us I’m blaming you,” he told Desmond. Usually flocks just intimidated each other rather than actually fight one another because that could result in injuries. Edward proclaiming himself was just to get them to die down and leave them alone. The fact that someone so big had responded meant that yeah Altair was here, and two it meant they were horrifically outnumbered if the wild avians decided to attack.

He didn’t move for some time, only indication that he’d heard Rauf being a twitch of his feathers. “ _I want to know you again,_ ” Desmond said quietly, hoping that he was right in assuming they spoke like the artifacts did. It was more like saying know as if to meet someone, to get to know them. He’d moved close to the edge of the ruins, but stayed pretty much in the foliage. The size of his wings wasn’t helping him appear nonviolent.

All at once all the movement around them stopped. Rauf couldn’t help that his wings fluttered a little, now nervous. Above them Edward stopped moving. Rauf watched the ruins but nothing happened. Then someone called back to Desmond but Rauf had no idea what the hell they’d just said.

“ _Who are you who claims to know?_ ”

“ _The soft song._ Desmond. … Rauf, Edward.” He had no idea if Altair would remember any of their names. “ _I sang to those. The remnants, what remains. To you, I know you._ ” Desmond had been trying pretty hard not to steal glances at the ruins, the source of the lonely little song. It wasn’t his, even though it kept calling.

Rauf looked at Desmond like he was crazy. When he looked up Edward was looking like he could sort of understand what the hell was going on, but not really. Other than Desmond Edward spent the most time with the artifacts and apparently he could sort of make heads or tails of this twittering. He did know that the foreign flock suddenly started talking until the big one squawked and made them all shut up again.

“ _Know you also. What want?_ ”

“ _See you. That you remember, you know._ ” Desmond dropped to the ground, and it was incredibly hard for him to appear smaller. “ _Not a want. Need._ ” He bit his lip. 

Shit, Altair had only gotten _incredibly fucking attractive_. His gaze slipped back down to his hands, the weapon on his arm. Even with it, he felt vulnerable next to these clawed, lithe birds. Not to mention his young age and inexperience. How long had Altair been like this to get the feathers on his arms and legs?

“Desmond-” Rauf hissed after him, still clinging to the tree. He pressed his hand to his face and looked up when he heard movement. Edward was coming down. Rauf dropped, using his wings to catch himself, unlike Edward or Desmond he wasn’t worried about them looking intimidating, they were too small. He landed next to Desmond and swallowed because _shit_ he did not something to go wrong. The ferals would literally rip them apart and their weapons were only so good.

Brighteyes watched the three avians. The rest of his flock was back, in the trees, where he’d told them to stay. Something ticked in the back of his mind like something he forgot. He knew Softsong, though couldn’t remember why. His nictitating flashed across his eye rapidly and he cocked his head to the side. They all felt...familiar, the alpha avian’s voice resonating deep within his mind though he couldn’t bring up the memory of _why_ they were so.

“ _See you,_ ” Brighteyes said and when the smaller avian landed his wings went out a bit before realizing they weren’t a threat. Not to him at least. Too small, not like Softsong whose wings were as big as his. “ _Know you... Softsong,_ ” he said slowly, because he did, he’d said that name several times when he’d first joined the flock, told Brightwings about him.

Desmond couldn’t help his smile. “ _You left. Three cycles._ ” Three months. “ _Too long, afraid you had continued, restarted._ ” Died. It was all about circles. One thing led to the next which led to another, but in the end, led to the beginning again.

 

“ _Feather, gave you a feather with a wordbind._ ” The bind had been in English, a promise, even though it had been Desmond asking him to return, to come back to him. The smile was gone, and he wanted to move closer to see him. “ _Bind to come back to Softsong._ ” He couldn’t bring himself to say that Altair had broken that promise, he wasn’t even sure if Altair still had the stupid golden feather. After all, his bag was missing, or at least, Desmond didn’t see it. 

He was so jealous of that avian, the woman with wings that were mostly gold. Dammit, Desmond had given him the golden feather first. _His_ gold feathers were the first ones Altair had seen, not hers.

Brighteyes’ brow furrowed. Wordbound feather? He couldn’t remember. He took an involuntary step back when the alpha avian landed. His wings pushed themselves outwards, half open, because the alpha avian had used his own to soften his landing. He didn’t like an alpha avian in his territory. Bad enough Softsong had wings like his, now this one was here, with wings just as big.

“Tell him I’m not going to do anything,” Edward told Desmond, doing his best to tuck his wings behind his back but they weren’t meant to fit against his spine anymore. They were too big, too thin, to not always be somewhat outstretched. He could sort of understand what Desmond and Altair were saying, but he couldn’t join the conversation.

“ _No threat._ ” Desmond stepped forward and crouched before spreading his wings to their full extent. Showing the back of one’s wings was entirely different than showing the front. The paler front was a challenge. The back was kind of like letting them know that they flew above him, they had the advantage that way.

The artifact in the ruins kept chattering away at him. _Brothers- show peace, gentle._ Midst the repeated words and beckons, Desmond had never been so sure that the artifacts were all somehow aware of the others existing, not quite aware of their locations, but aware that there were other pieces of the hidden and mostly lost technology. This one _knew_ him in a way that kind of scared him.

He shook his head violently, tearing his attention away from the whispery little song, and looked back up at Altair, wings drawing to his sides, the most comfortable position that didn’t have his feathers in the dirt.

“ _Flew to you. Learned, couldn’t before, young, fledgeling._ ” Speaking of it only reminded him all the clearer that he’d imprinted on Altair, and even though he was out of that stage, he wasn’t dependent on him, he was still the one he should be talking to. Not to mention that Altair still meant a hell of a lot to him. He didn’t want to admit that Altair remembered none of that.

Brighteyes cocked his head at Softsong and then turned his head and found Brightwings in the trees above him. She was watching them with interest. “ _Be nice to little ones,_ ” she called down to him with a smile and he rolled his eyes. Unlike him his Brightwings was far too trusting of strangers. Though perhaps that was a good thing, without her trusting him when he’d first come here he’d be gone now, restarted.

He looked back at Softsong, “ _You fly now,_ ” he said and he could still feel that annoying tickle in the back of his mind. He knew he was supposed to remember something, but he couldn’t. He was supposed to do something, or should have done something but it was all hazy and he couldn’t bring up things he should have done. But he knew he did remember Softsong, but not how or why. “ _You find me. What want?_ ”

“ _I need you. Come back, the flock..._ ” But Altair had one now, he couldn’t express the difference. “ _Family._ ” Desmond was overwhelmingly sad. Not the kind that was upset, just sad. Alone. He hated it, especially when he found it rooted in something as clingy and tight-fingered as _love_. 

The artifact kept tugging at him, and it was a lot easier while he was emotionally compromised. “ _Left,_ ” he said, wings trembling. “ _Left because the snake told you to. Not to restart. To kill._ ” Desmond couldn’t keep in one language, staring somewhere into the space between him and Altair’s perch. The snake, a liar. Bill. “He wanted to kill you. Because you _markmade, you took, I gave. Snake-_ Father-” Desmond covered his ears, though it did little to block out the artifact, eyes flickering.

He was just confused, the set of his wings said as much though he didn’t let it show on his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked at the same time the alpha avian asked Softsong something.

Edward put his hand on Desmond’s arm, “Kid, what’s the matter?” he looked towards Altair and he still looked wary, which was reasonable. Edward’s presence wasn’t helping right now. If Altair had stayed beta he could have reissued his authority easier, but there was no missing how big Altair was. Most of his own flock were lithe with hard, thin, muscles. Edward was the only one among them who was built up and looked like he could strangle you with one hand. Altair looked like that too, big, powerful. And now their helpful translator was having an issue.

“ _Why is it so sad?_ ” He couldn’t tell if it was just echoing his own feelings, or if his feelings were from the artifact in the first place. Desmond’s gaze focused on Altair again, eyes more white than gold.

Feral and without memories of him, and the kid still looked to Altair for direction first.

Desmond responded to it vocally, mimicking the song he heard. The words were old coming from his mouth. He needed to see it, touch it. It needed to be touched. Far from concerned with trying to reason Altair into remembering where he came from, and quite frankly, far from remembering that he was surrounded by feral avians himself, Desmond continued sing. It was all much too far beyond him, but he knew where it was coming from, he knew the words it put into his mouth. 

Soon, he didn’t want to stop, and began to move. Desmond pushed himself up to stand, eyes on the ruins now.

Brighteyes looked when someone moved behind him and before he could stop her Brightwings was on the ground. “ _Brightwings,_ ” he hissed, she just gave him a cool look over his shoulder and he scowled at her. Damn woman. But he didn’t stop her either. She hung back a little, wary of the alpha avian who seemed as confused as Brighteyes about what the hell had just happened.

Everyone got a surprise though when Brightwings started to sing, the same way Softsong had. Brighteyes blinked, fully blinked. He didn’t know she could do that. Clearly she was singing to Softsong though what was being said was lost to everyone but them. She stopped after a minute and, sort of reluctantly, held her clawed hand out to Softsong. He was about to stop her this time but didn’t because the alpha avian stepped away from Softsong.

Desmond took much longer to quiet down, though his attention did shift to Brightwings. His brows furrowed, and he reached out for her hand, whispering rather than singing as loudly. She... heard the remains?

He was confused, and touched her palm with his fingertips, nails almost laughably blunt in comparison to hers. Desmond almost made a pained noise. “ _Give back,_ ” he pleaded quietly, even though he knew it wasn’t her fault that Altair didn’t remember. “ _Give... back._ ”

There was all manner of chattering from the wild avians, whispers and jeers, almost. There wasn’t a name for what Desmond, Rauf and Edward were. No name for what Altair had looked like before.

“ _Mine,_ ” Brightwings said and looked back at Brighteyes, he didn’t like her so close. Too bad, he’d have to deal with it. She looked back at Softsong. Up close to these avians she could smell their difference. They didn’t smell like the jungle, they smelled of stale air and a dry, dry, heat that made some of the feathers on his back prickle. Over that was the smell of _their_ flock. It was a big one and made her uneasy, they were bigger than her flock. She pressed his hand flat against Softsong’s, like Brighteyes’ his hand dwarfed hers. She closed her hand through his fingers, grasping it. “ _Share with,_ ” she smiled a little. “ _See,_ ” and she pulled Softsong forward.

The strange alpha avian took a step forward, confused. “ _Brightwings-_ ”

“ _It fine,_ ” she looked back at Brighteyes, and smiled, she hadn’t seen him this uneasy since they’d found him. “ _Is fine,_ ” she said again. “ _Follow. I can’t make happy. Need you,_ ” and she started to pull him towards the ruins. When the flock started to throw up a fuss Brighteyes screeched, telling them to shut up, they did so grudgingly. “ _They afraid of..._ ” of what really though? There was no word for these avians. They were so featherless she didn’t understand how that could be. Maybe it had to do with the fact that they lived somewhere so dry. Too much dry, sand or dirt got into feathers easier. It made sense to her, “ _Of dry skins. Not me. Come. See,_ ” she tugged him towards the ruins again.

Desmond’s lip had lifted when she said share, and he grumbled something along the lines of Brighteyes being his _first_ , his before she had even known what he looked like, that she’d ever see him. He fell silent and listened, glancing back at Ed and Rauf.

“ _They safe?_ Ed, Rauf...?” He resisted Brightwings at first, pointing at the two of them. Edward became _Windcatcher_ when he spoke, and Rauf _Swiftflight_ without even thinking.

Brightwings looked at Brighteyes who was watching them, looking grumpy. She gave him a look and he sighed. “ _They will be,_ ” he said.

“ _Now come?_ ” she asked Softsong and when he didn’t fight her, which to be honest wasn’t so much a fight as it was her trying to move a boulder. He let her lead him into the ruins. Here their golden feathers glowed a little in the dim light. She fanned one wing out showing her golden feathers and after a moment brushed them against Softsong’s wing. “ _What remains misses,_ ” missed what she didn’t know, only that it was sad, and alone. She didn’t know how to help it though. No amount of singing made it less sad.

She pulled Softsong down an unlit hall to a room. Part of the wall was cracked and fractured, letting in shafts of bright light. She hadn’t been the first one in this place, but she had been the first one to hear when the remains spoke. Brightwings had spent a lot of time here when she was young, this was her place, her father kept most of the others out. It was a tall, golden, stick in the center of the room. Branches stuck up from the top of it and no matter how hard she’d tried she couldn’t pull it out since it seemed like it _wanted_ to be pulled out. “ _What remains,_ ” and in the room the song was nearly deafening. She knew it was affecting Softsong more than her since she’d been in here so much.

He was crying by the time Brightwings led him into the desolate room. It was less of a sobbing and more like tears just came from his eyes and tracked down his cheeks. “ _Home. Touch._ ” It missed many things, and the other words just got caught up in his throat. Desmond’s fingers slipped from hers, and his wings spread out somewhat, low and wide around him as he neared the artifact.

It was a staff, really, half stuck into what looked like a port in the floor. Without thinking, Desmond reached out to touch it, which was a stupid, really stupid mistake. It felt like vines of fire crawled up his arm and tightened. The cry he made was shrill. There was no vision, no feelings from it like he’d been expecting. Instead he got a white hot, constricting bolt of pain that raced up to his shoulder and then disappeared, leaving his muscles aching.

Desmond cradled his arm, and watched it continue to descend and disappear into the floor. Something thudded beneath them and the sound of movement stopped. There wasn’t so much as a whisper further from the artifact.

Brightwings watched with wide eyes when Softsong touched the remains. It had never... done that before. His scream made her freeze, afraid for a moment that something bad would happen. Then when she saw he was hurt she came forward. “ _Hurt?_ ” she asked him worriedly. “ _What happened? What remains only sad, never... hurt,_ ” she said helplessly and didn’t know what to do.

He just shook his head, feathers still fluffed and standing out. Desmond looked at her, half in Eagle Vision due to the low light. Her golden feathers glowed, and he was sure that his were also. It hit him then that she must have been born here. This flock was from here, and had been here when she feathered.

Desmond reached out to touch her wing, stopping a few inches short from her feathers when he saw the marks etched into his skin glowing just as much as the gilded feathers. The glow there pulsed with his heartbeat. Other than that, it looked like a bunch of lines and curves, nothing that made sense.

Some of the color drained from Brightwing’s face when she saw Softsong’s hand. Her wings flared outwards abruptly and she used them to jump away, flapping to get extra distance between her and Softsong. “ _What is that? Markmade,_ ” she swallowed. She didn’t know what it was, but she didn’t like it.

“ _From what remains._ ” Desmond stared at her, not liking how she decided to deal with it. He shoved his hands into his pockets, wings half folded around him, mostly over his arm. Turning away, he tried to start heading back out, and had to stop right outside of the room. He had no idea which way to go.

“ _What did you do to my remains?_ ” she demanded, moving after him, but kept her distance. “ _What happened to them?_ ” they were _hers_ and this _dryskin_ had just come in and... and made it vanish! She wasn’t happy about that _at all_. 

He held out his arm again, as if that explained everything. Desmond glared at Brightwings like a petulant child, shoving the glowing glyphs at her. “ _Completed._ ” It, unlike them, would not restart. It wouldn’t come back further than the ghosts in his skin. He might not have had any idea what it meant, but that was the end of its cycle. Desmond grudgingly waited for her to lead him back out.

“ _Completed?_ ” gingerly she reached out and touched the tips of his fingers. Nothing happened. She frowned. “ _But why you? Mine,_ ” they’d been _hers_ , she’d spent her entire life around those remains. Why would they complete with a _dryskin_ and not her?

“ _There are more that remain._ ” His arm fell heavily against his side. Desmond was tired. He’d just flown halfway across the world without really much any breaks, tried to reason with an Altair that didn’t remember who he was, and then got accosted by an artifact. It was a physically and emotionally draining couple of days, and he felt about ready to break down and cry his own tears. “ _Take me back,_ ” Desmond said after a while, voice quiet.

“ _More?_ ” Brightwings asked, “ _Show me,_ ” and then she took his hand again. “ _Come,_ ” and she led him out of that area and back towards the outside. Brighteyes was standing in front of the entrance to the ruins, Windcatcher and Swiftflight looking worried. She supposed they would, Softsong had screamed very loudly. Brighteyes was keeping them outside though.

When they emerged Brighteyes turned and looked at them, “ _We’re fine,_ ” she said sweetly.

“ _Do_ not _scare me,_ ” he told her firmly, frowning. She just shrugged.

“Desmond,” Edward said when he saw Desmond. The woman avian let go of his hand and he could move over to him. Rauf followed when he came up to Desmond. His big black wings came out and wrapped around Desmond when he hugged him, Brighteyes made a threatening noise but he ignored it. “You alright, son?” Edward asked, holding onto his shoulders, “We heard you scream.”

‘More’ were back where he was from, from the compound. The archive. Desmond had to remind himself what it was consciously, which probably should have worried him more than it actually did. 

He pretty much collapsed against Edward, wings sagging behind him. “I’m fine... The artifact just... shocked me a bit is all.” Outside, it was more like a series of fine white scars, nothing too incredibly noticeable. Desmond looked back at Altair, peeking through a gap in Ed’s feathers. He had no place getting offended or irritated by this. Honestly, he was too tired to even get angry about it.

“He lost... my feather.” Desmond let his forehead rest against Ed’s shoulder. “He doesn’t remember, and I’m tired, and I just want him back.” 

Edward squeezed Desmond tightly. “Don’t worry, boy. We’ll get him back,” he promised softly.


	16. Memory Loop

Brighteyes watched the three strange _dryskins_ , as Brightwings had started calling them, from where he was sitting on the ruins. They kept to themselves mainly except to eat, and they helped find enough food for themselves and the flock. Only Softsong really interacted with them, but then he could speak with them like the other _dryskins_ couldn’t. Windcatcher seemed to be able to understand some, but not all. It sort of reminded him of himself when he’d come here, half understanding everything. The little one seemed the most anxious about everything though. He didn’t like being near them.

They’d been here a few days and Brighteyes was content to just let them stay as they were though he was just happy they weren’t a threat to him or his flock. He swung his leg from his perch. He’d told the others to just give them space, the dry skins could join if they wanted but until then just... stay clear.

Not that he could say much about that with Brightwings though. He frowned when she hopped over to them, Softsong specifically. She liked him, though apparently the feeling was no mutual. Brighteyes couldn’t do much about it though, she did whatever she wanted no matter what he told her. And she seemed intent on making friends with Softsong even if a few times he looked at her in such a way that made him want to pull Brightwings away from her. He didn’t know _why_ Softsong was so hostile to his mate. So long as he didn’t touch her though he didn’t really care. Softsong or any of them lay a hand on his Brightwings and he’d rip their wings off.

Three days into it, Desmond finally stopped glaring at Brightwings. He almost always looked at Altair with a sad longing, and every day he’d talk to him about different things that happened back at the compound. He talked to him about his wings, how they were already feathering when they came out. About how he imprinted on him. The word actually meant how Altair had become his guardian, like a parent.

He convinced Rauf to hunt with them that day, mostly because Desmond’s huge wingspan made him useless aside from dropping down on things from above to skewer them with the hidden blade. Most definitely not the intended use of the weapon, but it got food. He’d stopped eating cooked food at the second meal.

Desmond began calling Brighteyes Altair again, but still slipped up. He just got more and more frustrated as it seemed like he couldn’t get through to him more than the fact that he knew Desmond _somehow_. He spent a lot of time huddled up by himself, or wedged under one of Ed’s wings, trying to ignore the fact that staying out here like this with them was beginning to change their bodies to suit living wild.

Brightwings moved over closer to Softsong and Windcatcher. Swiftflight was out hunting with other members of the flock. He hadn't looked happy about it but had done it. Windcatcher and Softsong were like her Brighteyes and had wings too big for the jungle.

" _Why so sad?_ " she asked Softsong, not like Windcatcher could understand her anyway. Well at least not talk back, the way he watched them showed he understood. Better than Brighteyes. He'd been totally useless to any of them and babbled in a language none of her flock had known. 

He frowned, not quite sure of how to make her understand. “ _He remembers but... he doesn’t remember._ ” Desmond picked at the little bumps in his forearms that he just knew were feathers. Unlike Rauf, he wasn’t that upset with it. They itched, but distracted the eye from the scars which had a habit of lighting up whenever his eyes did.

“I’m afraid... I will forget,” he murmured, mostly to himself even though Edward was sitting right there. " _Won't leave without... can't leave without._ " Desmond looked away from her, pretending to be more interested in his toes.

Brightwings frowned at him, " _Why you so interested in my Brighteyes?\_ " she asked him, putting a hand on his knee. " _Why you come so far from dry home to here? He's happy. No dig up old things._ "

" _Important to me. Was mine first, before this._ " He still hated it when she said things like that, and continued softly, " _Don't function._ " Desmond bit his lip. Altair wasn't just important to Desmond, he was one of _their_ flock. Ed's flock. 

His shoulders sagged along with his wings. " _Grew with him,_ " Desmond said, feeling his chest tighten. He hugged his knees close and curled up even tighter. "Too human, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I need Alty." No longer caring if Brightwing understood, one choked sob was all it took. It was selfish. He didn't care about that either.

" _Miss him more than what remains, need him. Said he would come back, wordbind._ "

Brightwings frowned and watched as Windcatcher pulled his wing over him protectively like her father did to her when she was scared. " _Sorry,_ " and she did mean it. Brighteyes was one of them though. He was hers. She didn't want to let him go, especially not to some beta who thought he had singular claim on him. " _Share?_ " she asked, because it was expected. Brighteyes never showed interest in the other men of the flock, only her.

" _Brighteyes,_ " she looked up, startled when it was Windcatcher who spoke. " _Go._ "

She frowned, " _No mean upset,_ " she said.

" _Go,_ " Windcatcher said again firmly.

She brushed her part golden wings against Softsong's. " _No sad. He know you. Try more,_ " but she got up, leaving them and went over to Brighteyes. He got up when she approached and hopped down from the ruins, pulling her inside. She smiled as he did.

The problem he was having was that exactly. Brighteyes- Altair _wasn't_ interested in anything _but_ Brightwings. It was like his entire past never existed. "What if I'm wrong," Desmond said after a while, breathing somewhat regularly. "What then. What if he doesn't remember. Never remembers. I've told Alty everything. _Everything_ that I have words for."

"He's been out here months, Desmond," Edward said, "And we've been here three days. The mind is funny. Sometimes it doesn't work the way you expect it to. I believe Altaïr will come back to us. He just needs a bit more time is all," he said gently and pulled Desmond closer to him with his wing. "Trust him."

“He lost my feather.”


	17. And Clawing Back Out (Synapse)

Desmond had to change some things about how he wore his tools and clothes. He kept the bag near him at all times, but it wasn't always on his back. He'd used the blade to cut his jeans into shorts, but he kept them on if only to remind him /where he was from/. They had to either go or get cut off because of the stupid feathers. After a while, he had also stopped calling Altair Brighteyes altogether. "Alty." He crouched down by him. "Aaalty. _You lost the last one_."

He wiped the quill of the feather in his hand off, and then tucked the golden feather behind Altair's ear. It was one of the smallest he could reach. For the first time Desmond's fingers actually itched to pluck his golden primaries, even though he knew it would hurt, and it would leave him incapacitated.

The gesture itself, he felt, probably wouldn't mean much to Altair. Brightwings had more golden feathers than he did. There was still this... stupid smile on his face, as if it was fine. He'd just cracked a little more.

Brighteyes tilted his head at Softsong. He didn't normally let others close enough to touch, he didn't like others in his space, crowding him. Brightwings was, he thought, the one exception. Turned out he didn't mind when Softsong got close either. Up till now though he'd sort of stayed out of touching distance and had never touched Brighteyes. Now he put a feather behind his ear.

Something was churning in Brighteyes' memories, fighting to get out, to be remembered. "Aaalty," he mimicked, even able to mimic some of Softsong's sound. He tugged the feather out from behind his ear and looked at it. The gesture was familiar, like he'd done it before. But he couldn't remember when, or why. Why would he put a feather behind his ear? "Alty," he said it again, to himself, as he studied the feather, turning it between his fingers. He frowned deeply. Why couldn't he remember? Brightwings said he should remember, try to remember. So he was. He was trying. But it was hard.

"Aaalty," Desmond cooed, and rocked back. Listening to him mimic the sounds was amusing, a little painful but it made him happy in a weird way. He hummed, arms crossed over his knees.

Even though the feathers pushing through his skin covered most of the scarring, the lines shimmered on the feathers, bands and stripes of gold. Desmond couldn't wear the hidden blade without adjusting it each time for the feathers, and simply took it off and left it in his bag.

He reached out for Altair's face, the movement slow until his fingers touched the scar slicing through his lip.

Brighteyes almost jerked back when Softsong touched his face. No, that was wrong. He was Softsong but that wasn't his /name/. Just like he was Brighteyes but that... That wasn't him. He squeezed his eyes shut. Why was this so damn difficult? He wanted to remember. He didn't like seeing Softsong so upset though had no idea why. He knew Softsong but _how_ and why did he let some strange avian touch him and not even members of his own flock?

He thought about it so hard he nearly gave himself a headache. Then his lips formed around a word he didn't know. But, he did know it. But he didn't know how to say it. It was right there, on the tip of his tongue. He had a feeling that if he could remember it he could remember more. He mouthed the word a few times but didn't know quite how to say it still. He sucked his teeth.

Then, all at once, it came to him and he felt like the biggest moron in the world. "Shit," he said, the first real word he'd spoken in English in nearly three months. "Desmond?" though fuck that didn't sound like his name. Where the hell did he learn to talk? It came out more like 'deshmind' but it was very clear what he was saying. Now he knew why the feather behind his ear was so familiar. So much was still foggy but it'd be okay; he remembered Desmond.

With a furious nod, Desmond smashed his mouth against Altair's, catching him with it half open. He licked the scar the way he almost always had. It was messy, and he was probably crying, but his wings twitched, wanting to open, to move, do something. His breath got away from him too quickly because of that, and Desmond kind of just... breathed against his lips.  
"Yeah. Yeah, you fucking lied to me. Come back to me means go home, not make me find you." He hadn't stopped smiling.

"I'm sorry," Altaïr said. Yes, that was him. He remembered now. How the hell had he forgotten his own name? He didn't know how he could ever forget that. "I'm sorry," he said again. "No... Don't," he corrected himself, "cry," he cupped Desmond's face in both hands and wiped under his eye with his thumb, mindful of how sharp his nails were. Who was he kidding these weren't nails, they were talons. "Desmond," and he smiled when he said the kid's name. 

He didn't remember everything, he doubted he ever would. The amnesia was clearly there to protect him from whatever trauma had landed him here in the first place. Some things were hazy, most things, but he remembered Desmond. He remembered home, because Desmond and the others smelled like home. He felt a sudden deep ache in his chest. He wanted to go home. But instinct was pulling on him. He was the leader of a new flock. Could he really just abandon them?

Yes. Probably, he could. He wasn't like them and other than being big enough to scare away any other avian who came into their territory he wasn't much use to them. With his huge wings he couldn't hunt, could barely move through the jungle honestly.

Altaïr looked behind him, he felt someone watching, it was Brightwings. He frowned deeply at that but turned away. He had too many things going on in his head right now and he didn't want to bring her into it. He looked back at Desmond and pressed his forehead against Desmond's. " _Home,_ " he said because it was easier to convey his longing and homesickness and wanting to see his old flock, and everything associated with home through the one avian word than it was to try and untangle all that meaning in English. He didn't even have enough words in English to say all that. He remembered some, but it was all so distant it seemed like. He just knew that at least he wanted to go home. And he wanted to wear fucking pants again.

“ _Found you,_ ” Desmond whispered, “ _know you._ ” He closed his eyes, cooing softly. His hands rested on Altair’s forearms, smoothing the small feathers with his thumbs.

After a few moments, he sat back and let him go, a chuckle interrupting the sounds he was making. “I...” Desmond touched a mark on Altair’s stomach, and stopped cold. His hands went to his leg, knowing exactly where the second scar would be even with the new feathers on his thigh. “No. No way,” he muttered. The exit wounds were pretty gnarled in comparison to every other scar Altair had, but they were right where he had felt them. Desmond wasn’t sure whether to be disturbed or amazed that the Ball had actually been right.

Altair reached down to touch the scar, his fingers pressing against Desmond’s. He hadn’t thought about the scars in a long time. He didn’t remember much about them, but he knew they’d hurt. His amnesia seemed to intent on blocking out the trauma of them. At the least he remembered how he got them, it was one of the few things he could remember sharply before now, “Shot,” he said, “ _Stupid,_ ” that he was stupid. He’d made a stupid mistake that he could have avoided. He hadn’t though and had paid for it by getting shot.

He started when Brightwings suddenly crouched down between them. She had a certain look on her face that made Atair feel guilty for some reason. Of course she’d seen Desmond kiss him and by the set of her wings he knew that while she wasn’t pissed about it she wasn’t totally happy about it. He’d only shown any intimacy with her before this. “ _Speak like dry skins,_ ” she said, not happy about it.

“ _And us,_ ” he assured her and realized she was more afraid of him becoming like one of his old flock again than any threat Desmond might pose to their relationship.

Desmond’s lip curled back in a vague, half hearted snarl. “ _Did not know before._ ” He pulled away again, to get away from Brightwings, mostly. “ _Speaks like family._ Learned _this, not know._ ” He said family in a way that clearly meant _their_ flock, not this one. “ _Home._ ”

Brightwings cocked her head at Desmond, “ _Mine,_ ” she told him. Her family, her mate, her Brighteyes, not Softsong’s, and most certainly that she was in _his_ flock as he was in hers. Nothing Desmond would change the fact that while Altair might be a part of Desmond’s flock he was also a part of hers.

Altair felt uncomfortable and he realized he was in a really shitty position. Of course now he _knew_ why Desmond was upset about Brightwings, markmade he couldn’t take back. Brightwings didn’t seem to like Desmond’s hostility either. He sort of just wanted to step back and hope they didn’t fight. “ _Just calm,_ ” Altair said because he didn’t want a fight.

He stood up, staring down at Brightwings for a while. “You promised me,” Desmond said quietly, not looking away from her. His wings shuffled, and folded as neatly behind him as they could. “You became like her, you aren’t _like_ her. … You’re one of us, even though we’re all becoming like this.”

Desmond picked at his nails. They were nowhere near the stage Altair’s were at. “We’re... probably leaving pretty soon after Ed knows you’ve remembered at least something, but if you’re staying you have to tell him yourself. I won’t- I can’t-” His gaze flicked over to him.

“Rauf can’t stand it.” And he hated making him miserable for the time it took to get through to Altair. He wondered how worried Yusuf was at home... What they were doing at home. Desmond decided he’d force himself to leave, with or without Altair, and whether or not Brightwings was in tow.

He looked at Brightwings again, pointing at Altair. “Altair,” He said slowly. “ _Altair mine,_ ” Desmond said, and touched his chest. “ _Brighteyes yours. Both ours._ ” It was the first time he’d even hinted that he was okay with being a second partner.

Altair breathed a sigh of relief when Desmond said that. He knew in their flock it was usually exclusive, and they had very human relationships where it was one to one. Wild avians were nothing like that. If you were lucky you were in a flock with a woman and she picked who she wanted to be with, they sometimes became the alpha, sometimes they didn’t. Altair had because he was big. Alphas were just... bigger, their bodies becoming fit enough to protect their territory and their flock from predators or other flocks. He’d always been a beta male before this, men who didn’t usually get to be with a woman. It led to a lot of homosexuality and multiple partners. Other than between a man and woman there was no real exclusivity- beta men usually not around near the women alone since they would try to have sex with them if given the chance- and it was sort of expected that the alpha could be intimate with any member of his flock. Altair had never been really, he’d only shown interest in Brightwings; which was weird. The alpha before him had enjoyed his flock readily.

“ _Ours,_ ” Brightwings said and looked at Altair. “ _You go?_ ” she asked him.

“ _I go. Home,_ ” because he missed home and wanted to be there. He was sure if he was there he’d remember more. He’d remember how to speak English again, more than just bits and phrases at least.

Brightwings frowned, “ _I go?_ ” she asked.

“Uh...” Altair scratched his head, as always mindful of the talons at the end of his fingers. Avians didn’t scratch their heads really, too easy to pierce the skin, it was distinct trait only Altair had out here. “ _Will ask Windcatcher-_ Edward,” though like Desmond the name came out funny. Ds were horrifically difficult to say for some reason. 

“He is... our alpha,” Desmond said, having taken a step back. “You won’t try to fight him for that, will you? There’s a lot of shit that went down after you went MIA.” There was no way Haytham would take Altair seriously if he couldn’t remember how to speak English cohesively. And Malik would probably be irritated that he’d also forgotten Arabic. Rauf hadn’t really expressed an opinion, though. He looked back to where Ed and Rauf were, both of them markedly less comfortable out here than Desmond was. 

“No,” Altair said, forcing the English out because he _needed_ it. He needed it so he could remember all the things he’d forgotten. They were important, he knew that. He wouldn’t just let these important words go again. But they were hard and he had to think about each one as he said it. It was infuriating that he was so slow at it when he knew before he’d spoken so freely and easily. “I never wanted... my- this position. I just want to have what I had... before,”- such a stupidly complex idea to a wild avian since while they had memories like normal humans and able to form complex thoughts and memories _before_ was such a loaded word. Before not just meant something that had happened in the past, but it also meant when they were something, when they weren’t just these winged humans in the woods- “all this happened,” Altair said.

Desmond crouched back down in front of Brightwings, reaching for her hands. He pulled her up along with him when he stood, ignoring the looks from the wild avians. They were still iffy about the three _dryskins_ , but Desmond really only needed to fluff out his wings to get them to leave him be. They were unendingly curious about Rauf - afterall, he was pretty much their size, and flew just as well as they did in the jungle. He hunted a little strangely, but it only served to fuel their curiosity.

“Aa... Adha, _Brightwings,_ Adha.”

“Asha,” Brightwings said, she didn’t like the way Softsong was saying her name. Asha wasn’t her name either, it was too constraining. She looked at Brighteyes, “ _What is..._ Asha?”

“Adha,” Brighteyes said, forcing out the d sound out though it sounded so strange. “ _You,_ Adha.”

“ _Brightwings,_ ” she said stubbornly.

“ _Only_ Desmond _speak like us. You want to come, you need speak like dryskins,_ ” he said, “ _Need dryskin name._ Adha.”

She frowned at him, “Adha,” she said but couldn’t do it easily. “ _What is Brighteyes?_ ”

“Altair,” her Brighteyes said, “ _Brighteyes is_ Altair. _Softsong is_ Desmond.”

“Ehgsmond,” she said and Brighteyes snorted at her. She whapped him with her wing, hard. “ _Softsong prettier,_ ” she said.

Desmond was quiet for a while, amused at the two of them trying to wrap their mouths around sounds that weren’t native to the language from the artifacts. “ _Tongue to teeth._ Duh.” He made the sound a couple of times, before saying his name again, and then hers, which was still easier because the vowel sound still came first. And it still sounded somewhat like the word for _bright_.

“Duh,” Brightwings said, “Adha,” but it still felt so funny on her tongue. “Desmond,” then she looked at Brighteyes, “Altair.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Altair said. Adha smiled. “Need to talk to Edward,” he got up with a grunt. “ _Stay with_ Desmond,” he looked at Desmond, “Don’t be so mean with the words,” he said, since d sounds were hard for them, and even hard for Altair, though he said them with more ease than Brightwings.

Then he left the both of them, “Edward,” he called when he got closer to his leader.

Edward looked up sharply, “Altair?” Altair nodded slowly. Edward jumped to his feet, “Oh thank god! I was starting to lose hope on you kid,” and he knocked Altair’s shoulder. “Des was about to lose his damn mind over you.”

“Sorry,” Altair said, “I want to go home.”

“We’ll go home,” and Edward squeezed Altair’s shoulder.

“I want... pants,” and Edward laughed so hard he nearly fell over.

Desmond made an indignant chirping sound. He wasn’t being mean. At least, he didn’t think he was being mean. He looked down at Brightwings, and then over at Altair. “Edward. _Big wings, Windcatcher._ ” His finger was levelled at the still fit, tattooed man. The tattoos were something that made some of the wild avians curious too. Tattoos weren’t totally unknown, but making them was a long, painful process with thorns or even fishbones. They were still impractical, the only totally unfeathered places being the face, neck, stomach, butt, palms and the bottom of the feet.

He was pretty sure Ed was hoping that the feathers would disappear and they wouldn’t be ruined.

"We'll get you some pants too," Edward said.

" _Brightwings_ wants to come," Altaïr said.

"Your girl?" Altaïr nodded, Edward frowned a little, "No offense Altaïr. But the girl's feral. I don't know how much she'd like it back home."

"She won't leave me," Altaïr told him.

"And would you come with us if I made her stay? For her own good?"

"Don't make me choose," Altaïr told Edward angrily.

Edward sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "She can come."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, this could all turn out terrible."

Brightwings scowled at Softsong, " _Don't any if your names not have a sound that is hard to say?_ " she demanded. But because Brighteyes had said she needed to learn she tested it out, "Edwaalrd," she did _not_ like that duh sound at all.

Despite himself, Desmond smiled a little. “Rauf.” He pointed at him. “ _Swiftflight_ Rauf.” And Yusuf was softer on the tongue as well, but he’d save those until he had faces and wings to show her. “ _Windcatcher listens, will hear._ ” He would at least understand what Adha meant with whichever name she ended up using for him.

"Rauf," that name was easy at least. "Rauf _no listens?_ " 

"Did I hear someone say we were going home?" Rauf asked. He was so ready to go home, he hated it here. He'd expected Altaïr to have gone feral by himself to survive. Never had he expected that Altaïr would find a feral flock. He hated the way they looked at him and he just wanted to go back home to Yusuf.

Desmond shook his head. It wasn't easy to say that he used to be the only one who understood or even spoke the language. He'd realized that he even spoke it differently than Altair or Adha. 

He brought her over to Altair, Ed and Rauf. Adha's hand was absolutely tiny in his.

Edward looked at Altaïr, "You ready?"

"I have to... Mmmmm _make new leader. Not me,_ " it was easier to explain through that language over English.

"You do that then. Then we'll get the hell out of here," Edward said, " _Brightwings_ is coming?"

Altair looked at her, " _Come?_ " he asked her.

" _Follow, always,_ " she said gently.

"She is," he told Edward.

"Alright. Do what you have to do. We got half the day at least to get some distance from here, get back home. Let's not waste time," Altaïr nodded in agreement to what Edward said and left them and called out to his flock. He had something important to tell them.


	18. Clean Shave

Getting up into the air was much less of a struggle than it had been back at the compound. It wasn’t that Desmond had really been doing a lot of flying, because the only place he could was from the top of the ruins. The trees were too thick for his wings. He’d watched Rauf launch himself off, and Ed dove out into the gust of wind. A lot of hot air rose from the jungle, and it was easy for him to climb on those updrafts.

Desmond spread his wings and jumped, pumping hard to catch the air. The extra feathers, the ones on his arms and legs felt the wind better than the feathers on his wings, and he had picked the exact moment to jump off. The air was a little slower here, it didn’t tug on his wings like the wind back home.

He hung back, and flew mostly with Altair and Adha, but had markedly less trouble with it this time. He also had a sense of where they were going, and didn’t want to stop even when Ed did. Desmond could feel the change in the wind, and he was excited. He wanted to fly with Altair even more, and he wanted to show Adha the archive, show her the flock, his flock. 

They were greeted by pretty much the entire flock by the time they got there. Yusuf had been watching the skies for Rauf, upset that they never sent a communique for the week and a bit they were gone. There was a response from the artifacts that coincided with Desmond touching the Staff, but that aside, no one knew how to decipher that, and were busy snagging information and technology that belonged more or less, to the flock, from Bill and the rest of the humans who couldn’t respect that they wanted to break from the Order.

Rauf was never more happy to see home in his entire life. As soon as he landed he went straight to Yusuf and wrapped his arms around him. Yusuf smelled like the flock and home and even after a week also still like Rauf. He pressed his face against Yusuf’s chest before tugging him down to his height and kissing him firmly.

“Someone get these two some pants, please,” Edward more or less commanded once he’d landed. Altair and Adha hung back, Altair more so Adha wasn’t so uncomfortable around all these people. “Or skirts, something. I’m so tired of seeing Altair’s dick-

“Hey,” Altair snapped.

Edward turned and looked at him, “I only like seeing my own,” Edward said, Altair rolled his eyes. “Also, this is Adha, Altair’s girlfriend.”

“You were gone three months Altair, how did you get a girlfriend?” Haytham asked.

Altair blinked, “Animal magnetism.”

Desmond pointed out Yusuf, who had his arms and wings both wrapped around Rauf, babbling at him in Turkish and English in roughly equal amounts. “Yusuf. Rauf pair.” It was obvious, but the word was perfect for them.

He introduced Haytham, and Connor along with his avian name. It still made him laugh. Ezio showed up, but stayed back, taking the hint from Malik, who was pretty keen on Altair’s and the wild avian’s unease. He really could have done with a hug, at least. His one dark wing opened up, and then closed behind him again.

“Malik. And Ezio.”

“No really, someone go get them pants. Ezio,” Edward pointed right at Ezio, “go.” Ezio frowned and sulking a little slinked off to get them.

“Yusuf,” Adha said softly, she had Altair and Rauf down, Desmond was difficult and Edward was a bit annoying. Altair squeezed her hand when she said Yusuf right, “Malik. Eseeo,” she ended on a little trill and Altair laughed a little.

“Ezio,” Altair said.

“Essseo,” she said, louder this time.

“Et-zi-o.”

Desmond smiled. 

He moved over to Connor, who was peeking over at Adha and her obvious nakedness. The only ones here who had ever seen an avian woman were the four of them, really. He was pretty captivated, even though a good part of it was the feathers on her skin and chest. It almost looked like her chest was nestled with fluff.

Desmond brought him over. “ _Birdtalker, spoke once, young._ ” Connor was quiet, and nodded, eyes averted a bit. He wasn’t sure what Desmond said other than his name, and that it wasn’t the mean way.

Honestly, it was to embarrass Connor. Desmond nudged him. “Don’t stare, it doesn’t mean the same thing, but it’s not exactly a good thing either.”

Connor practically squawked and punched Desmond. The two of them were tumbling into a fight without much more than that, kicking up dust and feathers.

“Boys!” Edward yelled as Ezio came back. “Stop that. Christ this isn’t the damn wild or training. Good, Ezio, lets try and see if Adha can wear clothes without freaking out,” since introducing her to cooked food had been a challenge in itself.

Ezio handed off the clothes to Altair. He’d miraculously found a pair of shorts, and hoped no one asked about the panties.

Desmond had one hand in Connor’s ponytail, and Connor had his fisted in the messy mop on top of his own head. Connor shoved him off, annoyed with Desmond’s claws even though it looked like Desmond ended up scratching himself up more than he scratched up his friend. “We’re just... You know it’s just...” Desmond gave up trying to explain and shook out his wings. They’d fought a lot, play fighting really, and it was kind of a regular thing.

They shuffled apart without a second order though, both looking somewhat sheepish.

Malik’s wing came out of nowhere and connected harshly with the back of Desmond’s head. “That thing on your head is the messiest, tangled mat of hair I’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing.”

Desmond flinched, holding his head. “Oww, you know it’s not like I packed a razor! And Alty’s hair is just as bad.” And Adha’s... wasn’t particularly bad, but it was long, and what wasn’t braided was tangled, more like dreadlocks. But it was definitely messy, and not just from flying.

“Before you put those on, Altair... I suggest you guys clean up a bit?” Ezio motioned to his face, over his own groomed beard in reference to Altair’s shoddy facial hair. Honestly, it looked like his hair couldn’t decide where to grow, and came in patches. Out of all of them, Desmond looked the most ragged, though Rauf’s beard seemed to grow a mind of its own and Edward was beginning to sport one that was equally gray as light brown. “Not to be rude but you look like shit.”

“I haven’t worn pants in two months, shut up,” Altair said and very pointedly pulled them on. “ _Brightwings, put those on. Legs go through holes._ ”

“ _Why?_ ”

“ _How dryskins are. Birdbrain stare because naked isn’t them. See, leg cover,_ ” he pointed at the pants everyone else was wearing.

“ _Oh. But doesn’t feel?_ ”

“ _Feel different,_ ” he said and rubbed his wings against her shimmering ones. He talked her through putting them on.

“ _Different. No like,_ ” Brightwings frowned deeply and tugged at the underwear, though didn’t remove it.

“Now that everyone looks slightly better than they just came out of the woods, shall we go inside?” Edward asked, “It’s so damn hot out. I would like the air conditioner,” he groaned.

“Father, you’re a giant child.”

“Shut up boy I just flew a few thousand miles both ways in less than two weeks. I’m allowed to complain all I damn want,” Edward smacked Haytham on the chest with his wing. Not terribly hard, but enough to make an impact. 

Yusuf had busied himself with preening Rauf, murmuring things to him every so often. He was pretty enamored with the small gray feathers that had appeared on his skin. “You could do with a wash and a trim,” he said with a smile. After the initial frantic kiss, it had gone pretty quickly back to normal, outrageously sweet lovebirds, the both of them.

Desmond made his way back to Altair. “Do uh... do you want to be alone with her?” He asked, wings fidgeting. “For showering and stuff...” It wasn’t like there was room for three, especially not with wings like the two of them had. And it had been a little bit of a squeeze when Desmond’s wings were small and the both of them were in the shower. Only the three of them and Malik were still outside, with Malik standing by the door waiting for them.

“Desmond, Altair, and Adha, if I heard? Welcome home, and come in. Or Yusuf will use all of the water cleaning Rauf up.” His expression softened just slightly. “Welcome home, Altair,” Malik said again, in Arabic, “You haven’t forgotten this, too have you?”

Altair blinked at him, “I know you’re talking Arabic, but not the words,” Altair said and took Adha’s hand. “Happy be home,” he told Malik and knew some of it was wrong but he was just so tired of figuring out all the words and always having to get everything right. He just wanted to go inside and get clean and then sleep on a bed again. He didn't know if he'd be able to after sleeping outside for so long but he'd try at least.

" _Cold,_ " Adha said in surprise when Altaïr pulled her into the building. She was so surprised her wings flared open a moment.

" _Yes. Things different. All different,_ " he said gently. " _New things. All new._ "

" _Want see_ " she said, her feathers fluffed up a bit to help keep her warm in the suddenly chill environment.

"Good," Malik gave him a vague smile and left them to head back to his duties. There was a lot to do to make their transfer from the Order smooth. As curious as he was about Adha, he had work to do.

Desmond fell into step after Altair. He avoided Adha's wings, own feathers rising. On the other hand, he welcomed the chill, almost groaning. In front of Altair's door, he pressed himself against his back, practically burrowing into the feathers between his wings. 

His hands came up and pressed against Altair's wings, a long, low whine in his throat.

When Altaïr opened the door Adha was totally fascinated by it. " _Thin into not,_ " she said and stepped into Altaïr's room to wiggle the door back and forth with interest.

"Door," Altaïr said, " _Room bridge._ "

"Door," she said, fascinated.

Seeing Adha wasn't going to go anywhere for the moment Altaïr turned his attention to Desmond who clearly wanted it. "Shower doesn't fit three," he told Desmond, putting his hands on Desmond's shoulders. "Less you want to see what Adha is like first time?" he was honestly not looking forward to it. He'd missed running water so much and he just wanted to get all wet, even let the water soak through to his wings and then lay in the dry heat and bake in the sun outside so they all dried out.

"I needed you a lot when you weren't here," he said quietly, "Don't go alone again." Desmond pulled away from his hands reluctantly and went to his own room. Connor helped him cut his hair, and yes, he was sure he didn't want a mohawk, thank you. 

He showered enjoying the cold water for a bit. When he shook out his wings, water got everywhere. Rather than shave completely, Desmond trimmed it down to an even stubble. He rubbed his face, appraising himself in the mirror, and feeling funny with claws like that next to groomed facial hair. A part of him didn't want to get rid of all of it. He was growing up, and it wasn't as patchy as it used to be.

Desmond sighed and sat down to press water out of the feathers on his body before finding something clean to wear. It certainly felt good to be showered.

Once Desmond was gone Altaïr closed the door. Brightwings was watching him. " _He's important to you?_ " she asked him.

"Yes."

"Have you mated with him?"

Altaïr winced a little, not that it was bad of course, rather it was more weird he hadn't bad touches other members of the flock than Adha. "Yes," he said.

She smiled a little, "No wonder he so attached. You know how."

"Yes I do," Altaïr agreed, moving over to her. Wild avians literally fucked like animals, they had no finesse. Altaïr might have gone feral but he still knew how to fuck and not just mindless rutting. "Come, tame sky water," it was as close as he could get to shower. He pulled her into the bathroom and kept her away from the... Well... Everything, and pulled her into the shower with him.

It took him a minute or so to remember how to really make it work. Adha cried out when the water started, surprised. She quickly was interested in it and stood under it. Altaïr had to help her not drown just once before she got how to do it. Her wings went everywhere all did she and Altaïr just tries to not get whipped by her wings. Edward had told him about what was going in back home and he hopped wherever they were going had better and bigger showers.

Soap was an entirely different adventure and Altaïr made sure Adha didn't eat the soap or the shampoo. He was happy when she stopped moving as Altaïr cleaned her scalp, washing her hair. She'd have to get a bit of a haircut because her hair was just really one big knot

Eventually they did get out of the shower, though it took a while and Altaïr wrapped Adha in a towel. She liked it, being wrapped in something so fuzzy and different. He kissed her, glad she was accepting all this new and strange things in stride. He'd been afraid she herself would be afraid of all the new things.

He let Adha inspect his room again and picked up a razor. He knew he knew how to do this though it felt like the first time again. Shakily he shaved the patches off his face as best he could. He cursed when he cut himself twice but he did it without incurring too much injury. There was a buzz cutter near the sink. Altaïr figured out how to turn it in and with a bit more fiddling he got it to do what he needed and shaved off all his hair.

Desmond let himself into Altair's room. He went right past Adha and crawled onto Altair's bed, face sinking into the pillows. They'd been one of the more accessible things that smelled like Altair, and he still liked them. With his wings out, he practically commandeered the bed, wings definitely large enough for the job. Spread out like that, not even fully, his feathers still hung off the edges and hit the floor.

While Brighteyes was in the little room Brightwings went over to Softsong and sat next to him. "Softsong," she said, though knew his name was Desmond. She thought Softsong sounded more beautiful. "We share Brighteyes, Altaïr?" she asked.

His wings twitched, and he grunted. Desmond lifted his head to look at her, silent for a few moments. " _Have to,_ " he finally said, a sad look flickering over his expression. There was no good word for love. Wild avians were a lot more polyamorous, and even when an alpha was usurped, his partners then belonged to the new alpha. Mated avians didn't usually follow their mates if they were kicked out of a flock, because it wasn't easy to survive without one. It was almost a death sentence unless you were a non-alpha male, a satellite male. Wild avians mated to survive, there wasn't time for a luxury called love.

" _Care... deeply._ Love him," Desmond said, wondering if she could feel what the word was. "For... a really long time," he admitted softly. His stomach felt all soft even just talking about it, and his feathers rose in embarrassment. Desmond dropped his head back into the pillows.

Brightwings laid down and wiggled under Desmond's wings so she could lay next to him. " _Can tell,_ " she said and pressed her fingers gently against Desmond's face. She couldn't understand everything he said but she understood. " _Life mate, rare,_ " more like mostly unheard of, ever. Even rarer still between men since it was just so much more convenient for all parties to just be a bit unattached. Usually with men the beta men fell for the alpha when it happened since the alpha was usually with _everyone_.

" _And us,_ " us being herself and Altaïr. She'd been with other men but they were nothing compared to him. Then she giggled, " _Of course you'd want. Same._ "

Desmond frowned, face still buried in the pillows. He whined. When he'd gone to get Altaïr, he hadn't expected that he'd have to share him. To him, it was like she was the reason he disappeared, though it was probably exactly what helped him survive as he did. That didn't mean that he felt any less usurped. 

He just wanted it back to how things had been. It had taken long enough to just get there, with every stupid mistake he'd made. Adha wasn't there for that. It was a lot less complicated between Adha and Altaïr, and he was jealous of that. Her potential to bear children notwithstanding. Desmond turned his head away from her, not quite softened by her amusement. 

Brightwings frowned at Desmond. She didn't want him to be sad. There was morning wrong with sharing. She looked up when there was a knock in the door. What had made that noise?

"Altaïr," someone called through the door.

Brightwings squeaked when Altaïr came out of the little room, his wings soaked and the patchy hair in his face gone. She forgot what he looked like without patchy, rough, hair on his face. He had a towel around his waist and went to the door, opening it. It was Haytham, she remembered that.

"Settling in?" Haytham asked Altaïr. Altaïr moved his shoulders.

"Yeah," he nodded, he felt so tired still. Like just mentally tired.

"Edward has given you guys and Rauf the rest of the day to recoup from your flight," he said looking over Altaïr's shoulder at Desmond and Adha on his bed. 

"Good," Altaïr said, he wanted a nap, or just lay down in a diff bed.

"Keep her in the avian wing. We don't want the humans getting all nervous that you have a naked, avian, woman in the compound."

"I'll keep her close," Altaïr promised.

"Okay, that's all. Get some rest kid," he put his hand on Altaïr's shoulder and he got deja vu. After a moment he remembered that Haytham used to do this to him when he was a kid and had imprinted on him.

"Thanks," and Haytham squeezed his shoulder before leaving, Altaïr closed the door, and tried to shake the cobwebs out of his head. "Stop taking up all my bed," he told Desmond and got on it, pushing Desmond's overly big wings aside to lay down between them. "/Play nice?/" he asked Adha.

" _Good girl,_ " she promised with a chirp and nuzzled him adoringly.

Desmond grumbled when Altaïr moved his wings. He sidled up against Altair's side, trilling quietly. He didn't seem to care that their bodies were warm and even warmer cuddled together.

He missed him, dammit, he was going to cuddle and hide his face against Altair's feathers.

Altaïr turned his head towards Desmond who was pressed up against him. He could just sort if feel, as a whole, how much Desmond didn't like that Adha was around. Adha herself of course didn't mind. Altaïr sort of rolled onto his side and wrapped his arm around Desmond's waist, tugging him close. He felt Adha preening his wings and helping to strip the water from them. He still wanted to go lay out in the sun and let them dry out.

Desmond looked at him, and reached out to rest his fingers against Altair’s clean shaven jaw. “I was afraid to say it when I left... I didn’t want to distract you.” He propped himself up and leaned over, kissing his cheek.

“I wanted to say that I love you,” he said quietly, head inclined a little. His fingers made it into Altair’s hair, gentle with his claws. “I thought it might have been too early, I mean... you know, my baby feathers... imprinting.” Desmond shook his head. “I had to bring you back because I loved you, not just because I wanted you.”

He’d certainly grown up. Besides the fact that he was almost twenty now, and that his wings came in, he was maturing mentally. Desmond knew how he felt about Altair without a doubt. He closed his eyes and ducked to press his forehead against Altair’s. “I missed you, Alty. So much.”

Bill was going to be livid when he found out Altair was back.

Altaïr wrapped his arms around Desmond with a sigh and pressed his face into Desmond's neck. Just like before he'd left he felt a bit like a jerk. He had nothing emotional to offer Desmond really. He'd never been in a emotionally romantic relationship. Honestly the closest he'd gotten so far was Adha and that wasn't the same as what Desmond was giving him. It wasn't any less, but it was different and the way Altaïr liked it, not being burdened by attachment or declarations of love. 

He felt like an asshole frankly because he wasn't fucking stupid, he sort of knew Desmond was in love with him. He honestly had been hoping it was just the imprinting. But fuck it wasn't and while Altaïr was an ass he wasn't an ass enough to push Desmond away either. Or maybe he was more of an asshole for that. It wasn't like he'd be leading Desmond on though. He could give Desmond whatever he wanted, but Altaïr was nearly thirty god damn years old and used to fucking whoever he wanted without strings. 'Love' was a hard thing to swallow, and a hard thing to give.

He held Desmond for a while, cuddling him really, before he pulled back and sat up. " _My wings are still wet and outside is sun. Outside,_ " he wanted to dry his wings out properly.

" _Same,_ " Adha trilled and when she flashed her wings out water droplets were flicked off.

"Going to come with us?" Altaïr asked Desmond.

Desmond nodded after a while. He’d go outside with them, though he was a little off put. The sex they had was pretty damn great, but he felt bad that it actually meant something to him. He felt bad for caring in a way that was almost human, and that it was clearly just him.

He’d liked being cuddled, and kind of feeling like he belonged to Altair was also nice... Desmond followed them, feeling like a stupid child even though he’d admitted his feelings without being too rough about it. 

“Do you think you ever could? I mean, I just don’t want to be sitting here hoping, you know.” He knew he didn’t want to get caught up in it if the answer was a slated no.

Once they were outside Altaïr laid down on the grass and stretched his wings out. Adha started to roll around on it happily, totally unconcerned with what was going on with them. Altaïr was sort of jealous, that she could be so careless about what was going on between Altaïr and Desmond.

Altaïr looked at Desmond and collected his thoughts and words since he knew he would need a lot of those. Or at least hard one. He was still tired so all his English came slow.

"I won't lie," he said, flexing a few of his feathers in the sun, "I don't know. I've never had to think about it," he was glad at least he could give Desmond the truth, and the kid could decide if he wanted that or not. "I don't... know how," he admitted. Love in a relationship had never been a thing he needed to worry about. It wasn't something he'd practiced or thought about. So really Altaïr didn't know _how_ to love someone or give them the full emotional package they wanted.

Altaïr sighed and looked up at the blue sky, the sun was high overhead still. "I don't want you to be unhappy, kid," he looked at Desmond again, "Cause I do care about you. I dunno if that's enough for you but I just... I don't know," it wasn't exactly easy stuff. Desmond was still so young and Altaïr sort of didn't want him to be so hung up on him he couldn't go find someone else who'd give him exactly what he needed, when he needed it. Altaïr wasn't good at that shit. He was a selfish asshole most of the time! "I did miss you though, I know I did, even if I can't remember all of it. Before I went feral I did," he closed his eyes against the sun. That was really all he had.it was fucking piss poor and shitty next to something like the devotion Desmond had for him, but that was all he had.

Desmond stayed standing and spread his wings, feathers opening and rustling apart. He trilled, the sound high and long. The sun felt great, warming the darker feathers when he turned his back.

“They’re even bigger than yours,” Desmond said, dropping the topic without much prying further. “You missed it... When I flew for the first time,” he continued softly. “ _High... free, skytouched,_ ” Desmond couldn’t sit with his wings spread, even then his feathers brushed the ground.

Altaïr grinned but kept his eyes closed. "Trust me: I wanted to see it. But I got to see you fly now. And they're only bigger than mine cause you're taller." Altaïr then opened his eyes and stood up. His wings were rather dry already since between taking so long to shower and then cuddling Desmond they were pretty dry.

"Let's see you do this though," Altaïr said and stretched his wings out. They'd grown several inches since he'd left since like the claws and auxiliary feathers his body had forced itself to change to survive. He flapped them a few fines to get still wet feathers to unstick and then he jumped and brought his arms and wings down in one motion and was flying. Powered lift. It had been impossible for him until he'd gone feral.

Adha saw him fly and in moments she was in the air with just a jump. Her shorter wings allowed her to fly like Rauf, nearly hovering. " _High. Big sky,_ " she trilled happily, literally flying circles around Altaïr.

Desmond had to take a few steps before launching after them. He hung a bit, which gave him enough time to give that second flap. It had been a leap of faith, he hadn’t been able to do it before, the closest was the jump at the top of the ruins. Hard, powerful strokes carried him up with the wind.

He was tired, but he flew, and forced himself up.

"Damn," Altaïr said at the same time the door back inside opened.

"Altaïr, I said stay inside the avian wing!" Haytham yelled at them.

"I said stay inside the avian wing," Altaïr mimicked in a voice that clearly wasn't Haytham's but was supposed to be it. It was a lot more annoying. He rolled his eyes, "Fine," he called back down. Haytham didn't leave, clearly waiting for them to land. " _Bugeater,_ " he muttered and banked down, calling to Adha to land. She wasn't terribly happy about it but skipped to stop well before Altaïr and Desmond who needed to check their speed differently.

"Well he didn't before but Bill definitely knows you're home now," Haytham said irritably when they landed.

"I care why?" Altaïr asked, at least his wings were dry now.

Haytham just scowled at him, "Idiot. Get inside. All of you," he motioned inside irritably. Altaïr hooked his arm around Adha's shoulders and walked back into the avian wing. Man he forgot how much of a kill-joy Haytham was.

Desmond tried his best to kick sand up at Haytham when he landed. “Fuck my father. I thought we were going to leave?” He folded up his wings, head cocked to the side. “I really don’t care if he knows Alty’s back, and I really don’t care if he’s pissed that I went to find him. He has problems with _me_ , he talks to _me_ , he doesn’t take it out on Altair sending him off on some crackbrained mission simply because he fucked his son.

However the hell Desmond found out it had been some kind of revenge issue was unclear. His eyes were sharper than they had been before he left. Of course, it wasn’t the only change about him. The marks on his arm and the feathers were much more obvious than a simple look in his eyes. “He needs to get out of my shit,” Desmond grumbled. 

He was about to just push past Haytham, and stopped short. “There was an artifact there.... Adha showed me. She... I don’t know, she could hear it, like I did. She brought me to it and I touched it.” Desmond lifted his arm, feathers rising a bit. “I don’t know what it is, but the artifact stopped speaking after that, and it hurt like hell.”

"You might not care but we do," Haytham told Desmond sternly. "We're trying to make this a clean break and your attitude isn't going to help. Now listen to your superiors and stay out of the way until we're ready to go."

"Aw, give him a break Haytham," Altaïr said.

"You too," Haytham snapped and his wings snapped out to make himself look big. Only because he was so clearly stressed out would he do something so base and instinct driven as show off his wings. Altaïr, thankfully, had more control and kept his back. Haytham's wings were laughably small. It was better if you didn't get on his bad side right now cause he seemed _pissed_. Like father like son son Altaïr supposed as Haytham was demonstrating the Kenway anger pretty well; contained but furious.

Haytham turned back to Desmond. "We'll have someone look at it later, Desmond. Right now we just want to get out of here."

Desmond paused. "Um... If Bill wants to talk to me don't make him wait... I'll see him if he asks for me." He went into the avian wing without fussing, but he didn't follow Altair back to his room. "I'm... going to sit by the archive," Desmond mumbled, and let his feet carry him there. 

He felt... weird. He didn't feel any better confessing to Altair.

Haytham rubbed his eyes once they were all gone. "I'm too old for this. Damn kids."


	19. Awakening

Desmond split most of his time between the archive and Altair's room. When he wasn't preening himself, Altair or Adha, he was standing in front of the door, running his fingers over the lines radiating from the lock. The marks on his arm were similar, and were echoed on a few other pieces in the room. It was so frustrating, they kept telling him in hushed whispers that he was supposed to do something, but wouldn't explain anything when he asked, they fell to even more hushed whispers to the point where he couldn't make heads or tails of a word that was spoken. He sighed and walked back. 

There was a meeting scheduled, he was supposed to see Bill, and he wasn't going to drag it out this time. It was the last thing he was obligated to do before the flock broke completely from the Order. He had a bad feeling about it, but Desmond went anyway, and expected to be greeted with hostility. He also thought that he'd be angrier with Bill, but he wasn't. He did hesitate for what felt like a lifetime by the door. Part of it was that he didn't want to wrestle his massive wings into the room.

"Desmond," when Bill spoke it was with kindness when his son carefully walked through the door like he expected Bill to jump on him and bite his head off. "I honestly didn't expect to see you before you left," Bill was standing behind his desk. He'd been surprised when Edward had told him Desmond agreed to see him before they left. Just a few short days after Altaïr had been returned home. He tried to tell himself he was glad Altaïr was back but it tasted bitter in his mouth. Miles did not forgive easily.

Desmond was quiet for a bit. "You asked to see me. I'm not going to run away from that. I know you sent him away, and I know why you did." He took a breath, wings close and angled slightly over his shoulders so they didn't drag on the floor.  
"I need you to know that it was my choice."

Bill frowned, stupid brat. Clearly he didn't know everything Bill had done for him growing up, to make him what he was, to even have _anything_. Bill knew Desmond saw him as a task master, a warden, when everything he'd done since Desmond was born was to put him in this place now. A bridge between the flock and them. Not just a parasitic relationship they currently had now. The rest of the flock had been raised, more it less, by Rashid and Edward. Raised to distrust humans, hate them even! With Desmond that could change. He'd given Desmond his wings and then his son had spit right in his eye.

"That's very mature of you," Bill said because finally his son wasn't running away or hiding like he always was. He didn't want to think about what Altaïr had done to his boy, multiple times if the bruises from almost four months ago were any indication. "But I haven't any idea what you're talking about. I sent Altaïr on a mission, was a shame he fell out of the sky; but at least he's back now hmm?"

Desmond scowled. "Don't play dumb. You sent him into a hell hole, and it was almost like there was a tip leaked." He crossed his arms. "Why am I here, Bill? You wanted to see me, but I know you don't want to talk about ruined plans."

Bill tapped his fingers on the table with a thoughtful frown. "I know you think I'm a horrible father, Desmond. That I somehow kept you from all the things you could have done growing up. That I was cruel to you. I might have been hard with you but really, how much did I deny you?" Really it wasn't much. Desmond had anything he wanted pretty much. Bill only sometimes restricted him going into the avian wing but he usually never said no he couldn't. The training was hard yes, and the tough love might not have been the best but you couldn't be weak in the flock or in the Assassins. "You think you would have had it different if I'd let you be with the other avians more. I can tell you, I've seen their training, how Haytham raised his boy. The birds are worse than us with rules and hierarchy and all the things you seem to hate me for. Yet because it's them it's fine."

Bill sighed heavily. "I did do a lot for you Desmond. More than you'll ever know. Unlike your mother I was glad you we're avian. Maybe now the humans could get a word in between Edward and Haytham who are both so caught up in what they are they can't see the big picture. I just wanted to prepare you for that, and so you could keep up with them, but still remember there is more out there than just the flock. Most of them don't remember that."

"I wonder about that. How am I avian? Why didn't you... treat me like this my whole life? It was only when the nictitating membrane didn't disappear. I don't know what you want me to do, what /is/ the big picture you keep talking about? What is it that I'm supposed to do?" He didn't really want to hate Bill, but he felt the calmness starting to fade.

He still sent Altair to what was intended to be his death because... what, he had sex with his son? And he was back now, but... different and he'd never be the same. Desmond blamed Bill for that. "You're glad I'm avian, you want me to be, but you also want me to be human too? I can't... I can't do that. I've always been avian, and it doesn't help that your people hate us."   
He gestured at the door, with his arm and with his wing. "Out there, wild ones are killed. Shot for no reason. They avoid humans because humans hunt them, hunt us! Humans hate us, and to survive we have to hate them back. Even in these halls, I can't sit at the cafeteria and eat without getting looks of disgust because I have a pair of fucking wings, or I'm eating four or five times what they eat." Desmond had backpedaled a little bit, somewhat swayed. "I just... wanted mom to look at me. That's why I showed her the door first. That's when you caught me coming out of there."

Bill frowned at his son and barely recognized him as it. Maybe he didn’t have a son anymore. Maybe the flock had taken him away from him. “I know,” Bill said, “but that’s what I was hoping for you to help change. We’re only human Desmond and you know humans are afraid of things we don’t understand. We don’t understand you because the flock is so cloistered away from the rest of the compound.

“You’re so young Desmond,” Bill said softly, “there’s so much you don’t know and I couldn’t even begin to tell you if you leave. Because Ed won’t tell you.”

“Of course there’s a lot that I don’t know, you never really were all that forthcoming either.” Desmond was a lot less aggressive though, and was warier as he went on. “Tell me what it is. What is this _thing_ you’re not telling me?” His wings had closed up again, folded as much as they could against his back.

“Tell me why I’m here right now. It’s not to try and break me from the flock, is it? Because you aren’t exactly doing a good job of that.”

Bill sighed a little, “I did what I could,” he told himself quietly, in a whisper. “Before all _this_ shit happened, before most of history really remembers, Desmond, avians worked _with_ humans, to help them. And while I know it sounds ridiculous once upon a time humans weren’t the apex species we are now. We were once slaves to a much more advanced race. Avians helped us though, helped free us. I am well aware that avians are considered second class life forms by most of the world. I wanted to change that though, so they could help us again. You told me you could hear the artifacts speaking to you and that’s the first step to what I want to accomplish.”

Desmond gave Bill a quizzical look, brows drawn. It sounded pretty close to some of the whispers from the artifacts, but he never really thought too hard about it. “Okay so step one was me hearing them and beginning to understand them. Now what.”

The more he turned it over in his head, the less it lined up. Desmond didn’t have the patience to argue with his father, and kept it to himself.

Bill thought about what to do but he saw only one way. He was running out of options and he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Desmond, and he didn’t have more time to get him ready. The flock was leaving. “If I had more time,” he said, but there was none. Once Desmond was done here the flock would be leaving. He sighed heavily and looked down at his desk.

After a moment he rapped his knuckles on the wood, “I can show you,” he told Desmond.

“Fine, show me.” Desmond crossed his arms, and the feathers that remained over the scars lifted somewhat. He watched his father with a rather flat stare, expression reined in under control again.

“Follow me then,” Bill said, trying not to sound totally defeated. He walked around his desk to the door. At least Desmond followed him when he left. He walked down the hall to the basement which was normally off limits to everyone, mainly because it was just storage and it just helped keep things organized.

Then he got into a service elevator and held it open for Desmond who had to duck a bit to get in. William pressed a large button to go down. The elevator groaned before starting to descend. “We built the compound here for a reason,” William said as they went down, “because it sat over old ruins. Ruins like the ones avians tend to gravitate to, only because they’re underground are far more intact. They’re the best looking ones we’ve seen, pretty much, ever,” he told Desmond though didn’t know how much it meant to him.

Desmond tucked his head a little, wings pressed almost uncomfortably close to fit in the elevator. He could _feel_ the ruins as they descended, and they weren’t just intact, they were sprawling. Huge. And all too familiar. They had hardly reached the end of the lift, and he could have sworn he’d been here, only... they hadn’t been buried. 

“It’s not supposed to be underground... Why is it down here?” He asked, stepping out before Bill probably would have been comfortable letting him. Desmond’s eyes were bright with his second sight, seeing well in the low light while the marks on his arm took on the pulsing glow that followed his heartbeat. 

“We don’t know,” Bill said, following Desmond, “We found them like this. It’s amazing they’re so well maintained too, since most ruins are worn out by centuries of weather. We found the first artifact here, before I was born. Archaeologists were inspecting the site, for answers on what happened to those who came before. They found Rashid down here, of all things, along with the Apple that now sits in the archive. He was the only one though, there were no other avians, and we have no idea how he got here either,” Bill frowned at that.

His silence lasted a few moments. “Rashid...” Desmond repeated slowly, feeling like Altair probably had when they found him in the jungle, trying to remember a past that he just couldn’t. They’d built the Farm on top of all of this, no wonder the artifacts were always longing. They were longing for this.

Desmond looked down the long, dark halls, and felt a bit of the sad, loneliness that he always had in the archive. “I know what you want me to do.” He looked back at Bill. “I won’t do it.” Even though he wanted to. “I’m not bringing them back for you. What do you think they’ll do? Help you do what?” His eyes narrowed a bit.

"what do you think I hope they'll do?" Bill asked irritably. "We're at war Desmond. I know you don't see much of it because we've tried to keep you and the other children out of it until you're old enough, but this isn't a war we're winning. Every year more of us are lost to the templars. if the tempers win it'll be like it was before the avians helped us. Humanity will be slaves to itself and I can assure you the templars won't be so kind to your species. They hate your kind most of all and will burn the avian race out of existence. If you don't want to help humans fine, you can be that selfish, but you care about your own species don't you?"

"I know you think I'm an asshole, but all I want is to win so we don't have to fight anymore. some of the ancients are sympathetic to us. Wake them up so they can help us."

“... If that’s what you think they’ll do.” Desmond didn’t need Bill to lead him through the winding corridors, and began walking. “If they don’t, you have no place getting angry with me.” Though Bill’s temper would probably lead to him being the target of the brunt of his irritation, regardless of whether or not he did what Bill wanted him to. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t, even though he wasn’t entirely sure of what would happen if he woke the ancients.

The closer Desmond felt like he was getting, the more he was beginning to understand, and he kept asking Bill if he was sure this was what he wanted. Never once did he really explain why he asked, or look back at him for more than a few moments even though he was sure that his face would be nearly impossible for his weaker, human eyes to see in the dark other than the glow in his eyes.

“What if they don’t help?” Desmond asked, coming upon a largely open room. It was circular, and a convergence of many other hallways. He looked around it, up at the domed ceiling, the pedestal in the center. It was strange to remember a place he’d never been. Desmond remembered it with an oculus in the center of the dome, open to the sky. There were channels and grooves in the floor, radiating from the center in a series of shallow pools, long since dry and empty of water. Beneath the dirt, he knew it was a pristine white surface that wasn’t stone, or anything really known to man, at least.

“I mean, what if they don’t like humans at all?”

Bill frowned, though he had thought about that. "Rashid told me," he said. "And he said that if they didn't then like before the avians would help us since they were just as enslaved as us. It's why we gathered the flock, protected it from the outside world and itself. So if the worst case scenario happened we wouldn't be alone."

He couldn't really believe that he actually gave a laugh instead of just grinning in the dark. "I wish you told me more about Rashid," Desmond said, moving to the pedestal. There was a depression in its surface, interrupted only by curved lines and half circles. "I could have learned to be a better liar, if you actually believed him." It all suddenly made sense. 

Desmond knew exactly what this would do, he remembered, with the whispers of the past in his ears. He was spelling the beginning of the end for many humans, and he was doing so knowing full well what he was doing. "Don't forget, Dad. You wanted me to do this." His wry smile was nearly audible, and he pushed his palm against the indent at the center of the pedestal. He wasn't going to let his father take this away from him.

The marks on his arms glowed, and he felt pain as the light traveled from his fingers to the grooves in the pedestal, and out onto the floor. Desmond pressed his hand even further, wings spreading as the words of a song he barely remembered leapt to his lips. He was calling them back, their masters, the ancients. Those who came before. He was remembering, and it was making him cry over the pedestal, though his voice and the ancient words were unhindered.  
The house lights went up, so Bill could see. The central area began to glow and hum to the same song pouring from Desmond's mouth.

Them it appeared, an ethereal figure made of bands of light. They looked like they were sleeping. The podium released Desmond and they woke. They made a sound like they were tired and then came into focus.

The hologram looked at Desmond and then at Bill and frowned. "Little one, what happened to you?" they asked and stepped down from the podium. Standing they were nearly the same height as Desmond. They looked like a woman and wore a white dress that trailed on the floor and a sort of crown that covered her head and hair. "What's this pest doing here?" she asked Desmond, clearly expecting the truth.

Desmond stopped singing, and sank to his knees, wings spread out around him. It was only a type of hologram, but he looked at her like he knew her. He wasn't surprised that the speech was in English - the pedestal had shared in his memories to some extent, as he shared in the memories within it.

"He was my father. He asked I bring you back." Desmond closed his eyes. "He was led to believe you were sympathetic to humans." He responded in English, wanting Bill to know every mistake he'd made.

She turned and looked at Bill like he was shit on her shoe. "We are here to help," she said, "Help you monkeys remember your place in this world that clearly you've ruined if our precious angels look like /this/," while she didn't sound disgusted by the way Desmond looked she clearly was not happy about it.

There was a vaguely upset air about how Desmond held his wings, slowly closing halfway. He cooed quietly, more than content to sit there by the projection's feet, apologizing in the old, song-like language. "When will you be back?" He asked softly, not even bothering to look back at Bill, see what he thought about all of this.

The hologram put her fake fingers under Desmond's chin, "Soon little one. And we'll fix what these humans have broken. This poor world has seen enough chaos because of these creatures," and she turned fierce eyes on Bill who looked like he'd just hit over the head with an avian's wings repeatedly.

Desmond smiled. "We will wait," he replied quietly, rising to his feet as he felt the hologram begin to dissipate. As much as he didn’t want it to, he knew that it meant that they would be back. They would all return. 

He folded his wings up and straightened, shoulders rolling back even as he gave a soft, sad trill that was nearly a whine. It wasn’t until her figure fully disappeared that Desmond looked back at Bill. The lights dimmed around them but did not turn off completely, alluding to the life that was returning to the ruins. 

Bill stared at his son a moment, the entire implications of what had just happened sinking in. But that... wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Perhaps worse than that was how smug Desmond looked. He knew and had just let Bill walk right into it. He’d just let Bill do something so stupid and damning to the entire planet without even blinking. Bill felt heat rise up his throat and he realized he really didn’t have a son, This _thing_ in front of him wasn’t his son and now he saw what his wife always saw when she looked at Desmond. He saw an alien that had come from part of his body. 

Bill didn’t know he could be so angry. But he did know it felt really good when he punched Desmond so hard in the face the avian went down and didn’t get back up. Bill shook out his hand because he’d just knocked the avian out. “Fucking bird,” he grumbled and thought about leaving him down there, locked up to die but he couldn’t. Instead he hoisted Desmond over his shoulders. He couldn’t let this be the end though. If he’d done this with Desmond’s help well damnit he was going to fix it, and make Desmond fix it.


	20. The Flood

He was out and he was out damn cold. Desmond was dimly aware of the fact that there was blood in his mouth, and his face hurt like a bitch. He was also aware that he’d lost time. The amount that he’d lost was fuzzy, but he sobered up pretty quickly when he realized he wasn’t in the ruins or the avian quarters.

Assessing his situation came slowly, but the first thought he had was pretty much just how in the hell had Bill carried him back up with his wings flopping around. Desmond figured out pretty quickly that his hands and his wings were tied, and his wings much more uncomfortably so. The most he could do was spread his primaries.

Sitting up was a hassle, his wings hit against some kind of desk, and were forced into an even more awkward position. Desmond could feel his feathers bending in directions they weren’t supposed to, and tried to get to his knees to lessen it. “Dad?”

Desmond spat blood out on the floor, just barely missing his own leg, and tried again, “Bill? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Seemed like his nose wasn’t bleeding, but he could feel dry tracks, and smell blood.

Bill was sitting in a chair in front of Desmond, “What am I doing?” he asked, he was quiet, contemplative. “I was trying to make the world better,” he said softly. “Though since I can’t do that I guess I’ll just have to fix my mistake,” and from a table above Desmond’s line of vision Bill pulled a pair of clippers. They were hedge clippers, the small kind you could use with one hand, the clipper parts curved like a hornbill’s beak. “I am not your father. You are not my son. You’re a mistake I shouldn’t have fostered,” he stood up, taking the clippers with him.

Desmond’s gaze tracked the shears. He struggled against the ties on his wrists. Zip ties? Yeah, the plastic was definitely cutting into his skin, and his wings were in the way, he couldn’t snap it. There was a growl in his throat, an actual snarling kind of growl.

“You made it worse. People like you.” He couldn’t back himself up, wings in his way once again. “But you’re right, I’m not, I never was. But I’m the closest you’ll ever get to having one.”

“I _made_ you what you are you ungrateful shit,” Bill snapped. “Without me you’d just be a human, like me, like your mother. Or even if you did somehow express your avian side you’d have wings smaller than Haytham’s. Your mother’s grandfather was barely an avian. You shouldn’t be at all. If I had just let you grow up without treatments you would have been just like us. Instead I tried to do you right and I got...” he swallowed, but didn’t continue. He’d tried to love his boy, but he didn’t always know how. It was hard loving a son who you knew one day wouldn’t be like you, would be so far away from you just because of your species differences.

“I made a mistake letting your avian side express itself, Desmond,” he said softly. “But maybe I can still fix what I did,” and he eased up on the pressure of the clippers so they opened. “Really all I wanted was a son,” he said to himself but he was close enough that Desmond could hear. He’d tied Desmond’s wings to parts of the desk so they were open and Bill put the clippers on Desmond’s primaries, probably further up than he should have, and pressed his hand closed. The clippers sheared through the thick quills with a sharp snap.

Desmond did not want to give him the satisfaction of hearing his pain. “I’d only look like you.” His voice was hard, and he kept trying to move away even though he couldn’t. His struggles doubled when he felt the shears against his feathers.

“I don’t know what you think you did, I have always been -” He was cut off by a screech of pain. Three good chunks of his feathers fell, a good third of the way up. Bill had nipped them deep in the quick, cutting right through the nerve and into the blood vessel. Desmond stilled when he felt the blood running down his other feathers. It was strange, he had this image in his head like he was being crucified, wings spread out. Instead of nails into the meat of them, feathers were being clipped, and it was more than enough to ground him.

He couldn’t fly like that and on top of that he wasn’t a fraction of what he was supposed to be. He wasn’t even a shadow, it was disgraceful.

Altair’s head jerked up like being tugged by invisible strings. He’d heard something but he didn’t know what. All he knew was that whatever the sound was it made all his feathers stand straight up. So it wasn’t a good sound.

“ _What?_ ” Adha asked and ran her fingers through his hair, seeing how suddenly freaked out he was.

“ _I heard something,_ ” Altair said. He’d gotten all his things together that he’d wanted and now everyone was just waiting for Desmond to show back up. He’d gone to visit his father one last time but that had been over an hour ago. Everyone was loitering around their rooms, waiting as patiently as they could. They’d scrounged up a car for the avians who couldn’t fly like Malik and Haytham, and the heavy stuff had been put in it.

“ _No you didn’t. Just the air rumble,_ ” meaning the air conditioner.

“ _No, it was something,_ ” Altair said and pushed her off of him. About forty minutes ago both he and Adha had felt a _shift_. What it was they didn’t know, but something was weird now, different. The others hadn’t felt it. Just them. “ _I’m going to go check on him_.”

“ _Worry about nothing,_ ” Adha said.

“ _Be back,_ ” he promised, she pouted but he ignored her. He twitched because he heard it again. Sort of. It was less of a sound and more of an impression of a sound against his ear drums. It made him anxious and propelled him forward.

He left the avian wing, which he wasn’t supposed to do, but fuck it, and headed towards Bill’s office. As he got closer he kept hearing it and now _actually_ hearing it and not just the impression of it. It was coming from behind Bill’s door, and it sounded like Desmond and he could smell blood. Not human blood either. Avian blood. Bill was doing something to Desmond.

Altair didn’t even think. He threw himself at the door. It held but now he could hear other people coming towards him, drawn by the commotion. He threw himself at it again, shoving off from the other side of the hall wall. The door thudded open and Altair flipped so he landed, not on his feet, but on his hands and knees. Then he looked up and saw what was going on and saw Bill with fucking _hedge clippers_ cutting away Desmond’s feathers. There were bloody feathers on the floor in front of him. His eyes widened.

He’d stopped crying out, but still flinched each time a feather was cut. Apparently Bill figured out it hurt more when they were cut one by one, even the golden ones. His head snapped up and he tried to get away again, managing to briefly upset the desk. Desmond had already displaced it by a little over a foot just from jerking against it.

There was a wordless warbling cry, and Desmond tried to pull himself toward Altair. It seemed to have unstopped the dam, and he was making all kinds of sounds, mixed up with partial words in both English and avian. 

Altair took one look at what was going on and all his feather puffed up and he hissed. He actually hissed, like a pissed off eagle and with a screech launched himself at Bill. He landed on the older man and using his fists and his wings started to pummel him. Every ounce of training he’d ever had left him in that moment. All he knew was that Bill was hurting his Desmond and cutting his wings.

Bill did try to fight back, smacking at Altair and trying to use the garden clipped but Altair just broke his wrist, making him scream. He clawed at Bill’s face and neck and just kept shrieking, furious that some _human_ would _dare_ hurt one of them. His own son no less!

Altair didn’t stop until well after Bill had stopped moving and it was only then that he sat back, panting, his hands, arms, chest and wings were splattered with blood. He looked down at what he’d down. He’d literally clawed Bill’s face off and he could see some bone through the carnage, and he’d left huge, deep, furrows in Bill’s chest. He looked behind him and saw some people looking in, looking horrified. He raised his wings in challenge and they quickly backed out.

He crawled off of what remained of Bill and went over to Desmond. He didn’t remember English right now, his mind was clouded with blood lust. “ _Safe,_ ” Altair said and cradled Desmond’s head in his hands, “ _Safe now,_ ” and he had enough civilized thought to grab the clippers and cut the zip ties holding Desmond in place.

Desmond cooed, wings shaking as he pulled them against himself. He practically tucked himself against Altair’s bloody chest. “Altyyy...” He was just short of trying to burrow into the feathers that remained on his skin.

That was also about when he stopped trying not to cry, not that he was particularly successful before, considering the fact that those were nerves Bill was cutting. Desmond really only ended up babbling after that, up until he remembered how to block the pain. It still hurt, and his wings, down to the feathers continued to quiver, but he could think a little better. “ _Home, take home, Alty. Take home,_ ” He begged.

Desmond didn't need to tell Altair twice. Altaïr scooped Desmond up like he was a child. " _Home,_ " Altair promised and walked out of the office. The people in the hall jumped back when he walked out and Altair glared at them and hissed.

Altaïr made his way quickly back to the avian wing. " _Brightwings,_ " he called and Adha poked her head out of his room, " _Get Windcatcher,_ " he ordered and she nodded, her face pale. She darted from the room as Altair went in. He laid Desmond down on the bed gently and pressed his forehead to Desmond's. " _Snake is dead,_ " he told Desmond softly.

He shifted himself onto his side so he could tuck the injured wing close. He had two primaries left at the tip, and it looked like Bill had just worked his way toward Desmond’s back from there. There was roughly two thirds left of primary feathers three to nine, and a handful of his secondaries were messily halved in length. Though the quills had already clotted, the wing still shook.

Altair simply just being there calmed him, but he still gripped his arm tightly. “He asked me to do it.” Desmond’s fingers twitched. “I did it. _Woke them. Ancient sleep, sleep no longer._ ” It was the second thing that actually made a lick of sense, even without context.

The door opened, "Altaïr what is the meaning of this? Adha just came into- Desmond?" Edward sounded confused. "What the hell happened?" He demanded.

"Bill," Altaïr croaked, " _Snake,_ " he hissed.

"Bill. He-" Desmond looked up at Ed, trying to figure out where to start. He heaved a sigh and pushed himself up. "There's... a huge, largely intact site under the complex. It's... home."

"He took me down there, told me to wake them up. The ancients, you know, the ones that made all of the artifacts. I kept remembering all of these... things." His brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "He thought they'd help them with the fight between them and the Templars. I knew he was wrong about that, I was angry. I woke them, they're coming back, we... can go back."

Edward frowned, "Kid, whatever the hell happened it clearly fucked with your head. The ancients are _gone_. We're alone," he told Desmond because there was no need for the kid to get his hopes up. Rashid had told him similar things while he was growing up under the other buzzard. That they were there, waiting for them. Edward knew it was just a pipe dream. "Altaïr, can he be moved?"

Altaïr looked at Edward, then at Desmond. " _Think so,_ " he said.

"Good. Because we _really_ can't stay here now. Don't let the others see him and take him out to the car. If they know Bill did this..." he didn't want to or have to finish. The flock would go _ballistic_ if they knew what Bill had done.

"No! No, we can't! She..." Desmond squirmed. "I saw her... She knew me." He pushed at Altair, not wanting to move, or ultimately leave.

He moved away from Altair, ending up pretty close to the edge of his bed. "She spoke to us, it's how Bill found out he was wrong, she told him what they were, pests. Parasites. It made him angry."

"I don't care," Edward said, "Whatever you saw was a phantom Desmond. Rashid showed me those ruins. There is _nothing_ there but a whisper of what was. They're all dead. Altair, get him," and then Edward left.

"Desmond," Altair said, "Please don't be difficult. Let's just get away from here. Please," and he grabbed both of Desmond's hands with his bloody ones.

Desmond jerked his hands away from Altair, snarling. "I felt her. I _felt_ her. They aren't dead, and we don't die either, not like humans think death is. I remember it." He'd ended up nearly back against the wall. "I remember everything. Or... most of everything." 

Being doubted didn't make him feel any more positive of what he remembered, though, and it was clear.

"I believe you," Altair said though he wasn't sure he did. He just wanted Desmond to calm down. "But we can't stay here," he knelt in front if Desmond. "If they're alive, they'll find us," he reminded Desmond. "So can you walk or am I going to have to carry you?" because one way or another he was taking Desmond with them.

Desmond whimpered, torn. He couldn't explain it to them, the longing, the need and unwillingness to leave them behind again. "The artifacts... I need, we need to take them, we can't leave them."

Edward was right, though. Something had changed in him, just like Altair being unable to fully recover from going feral, something deep within him had changed. Remembering what could only be described of as thousands of incarnations could do that. It made Desmond lonely, and he simply couldn't explain all of that. He keened softly.

"We are," Altair said, "We wouldn't leave them here for the humans to misuse," he decided to just pick Desmond up since he still seemed reluctant to go. He knew Edward didn't care about what Desmond had seen. They needed to leave, especially after what Altair had just done.

" _Brightwings, let's go,_ " Altair said and Adha followed him when he left the room. The car was idling, Ziio was in it with Leo, Haytham, and Malik. Ziio was coming because she wouldn't just let her son and her baby daddy leave. Bill hadn't been happy about that either but that didn't matter now since Bill was dead.

"Don't ask, Desmond is riding with you," Altair said, Adha opening the door for him.

"I'm more concerned why your hands are covered in blood," Haytham said.

"Just taking out garbage," Altair said still looking at Desmond. "You'll be all right," he said in a soft, gentle, tone and kissed Desmond on the forehead.

He grabbed a hold of Altair, hooking his arm around his neck. Desmond kissed him, refusing to be let go until he had pressed his mouth good and well against Altair's. He kept himself from whining, not liking that he'd be without Altair. Only those who couldn't fly were in the van. No one he was really close to.

Malik passed a look at Altair, and then moved to give space for Desmond's wings. Either way, he was still all but stuffed into the back of the van, and he hated it. It was dark in the back, and small and closed. He ended up with his head in someone's lap, he didn't remember if it was Malik's or Ziio's or even Haytham's. Leonardo was probably the one behind the wheel, and the only one Desmond even labeled as human in his mind. 

Ziio smelled and felt like an avian, and yes, it was her lap, he recognized that there was only one hand on his feathers - Malik's, and Haytham definitely would have shoved his head off.

Altaïr withdrew from the vehicle. Adha was standing with him, waiting. Then the rest if the slow came out of the avian wing. Rauf took to the sky instantly.

"We're leaving, now, everyone in the air," Edward ordered and he, Connor, Ezio and Yusuf started up the tower to get flight. 

Altaïr just looked at Adha. " _Follow,_ " he said and jumped, bringing his wings down in an easy lift. Adha flapped and joined Altair and Rauf in the sky. Moments later the others were as well and they followed the car away from the compound.


End file.
